


The Heart Remains

by littlebrownshoe (Wolfy_Tales)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drabble AUs, Forever nerds in lurve, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 21,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4029151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfy_Tales/pseuds/littlebrownshoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>100 Bagginshield drabble AUs where their bones may change, but their hearts remain. </p><p>Newest Up: </p><p>Tripped and grabbed your coat AU<br/>Stuck in a bus station AU<br/>Biker Gang AU<br/>Pilot and steward co-workers AU<br/>Homeless man in the woods AU<br/>Saved me as a kid AU<br/>Competitive bakers AU<br/>Captain Cutie AU<br/>Camping AU<br/>Adorable werewolf AU<br/>Summer camp leaders AU<br/>You're on my roof AU<br/>Etiquette training AU<br/>Train ride AU<br/>Injured animal AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Going Through the Motions

**Author's Note:**

> What you need to know: All chapters will be a stand-alone AU around 500 words, to restrain myself from going rampant. AU ideas will come from tumblr (which I'll source) or myself (which will not have a source then). But if you have an idea or recommendation, drop it in a comment and I'll totally look it over! Overall I'll probably never finish a hundred of them, but fuck it let's go. They're good warm-ups for my longer stories and I'm sure fun snacks for you readers.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit

 

'Dragon v. Knight' AU

One curse, one curiosity, and one cure.

 

 

Thorin hated these knights that came to kill him. It was not like he was truly bothering anyone. But no: these men had to come strutting in with armor gleaming, swords reared and eyes blazing in their urge to kill.

Only that blaze held nothing to the blue fire Thorin brought upon them.

Today's knight was the smallest Thorin had encountered. He wore not a piece of armor and brandished a tiny sword as if it were an afterthought and not a necessity.

"You're supposed to be red."

"Dead."

He held back how he'd freed Smaug from his curse with death, revealing a curly-haired man, only to get it stuck to him. Apparently there always needed to be a dragon in these halls along with the gold. That was the true prize awaiting if one of these idiots ever succeeded.

"Such a massive creature you are," the knight continued to say, lowering his sword even as Thorin saw the underside of his scales glow blue in warning.

"Why thank you, I've been trying to cut down on the sweets. Can't get too sluggish."

The little thing actually had the nerve to laugh, despite how bad the joke was. Then he did something that made Thorin snap his tail irritably: he sheathed his sword. He'd given up without even trying.

"I'm an adventurer- Bilbo Baggins at your service. I was looking for Smaug, but I'm sure you have some tales of your own."

Thorin huffed, thick rings of smoke curling out that didn't intimidate the person, but instead made them smile in glee. Thorin snapped his teeth that were taller and broader than this stranger- still his eyes remained bright.

"You're not here for treasure? Glory, gold- the Arkenstone?"

"Only company. And you seem more civilized that what I heard of the other drake. I like you."

Thorin did what he could to frown, snarl escaping from curled lips.

Bilbo then sat and began making himself comfortable under the watchful eyes of a beast. There were sandwiches, a ratty book with a leather cover, and finally tea. He chatted to Thorin like he was an old friend, not an ancient enemy.

And oddly enough Thorin found he liked Bilbo as well. Except for when he had to go, and leave the dragon alone with this damnable gold.

"You should come with me."

The idea had never passed through Thorin's head in all this time sitting here. To  _just_   _leave_  this hoard he had risked his life and given his true body for? He'd gone to reclaim it and indeed he had, only to be forgotten by his friends and family when he was too ashamed to show how he had become the monster he'd gone to slay.

"I'll come back tomorrow."

That night Thorin left his bed of gold and went to stare at the murky land below. Should he leave this hellish haven for the unknown? With only the faith of a little man without even a proper sword?

Thorin looked down when he heard a clatter against the rocks below him, expecting it to be a gold chip got stuck and come loose. Instead he saw it was one of his ebony scales, iridescent in the starlight.

When he climbed down the mountain with Bilbo the next morning, still refusing to fly as he still had some dwarfish pride left, Thorin left a trail of scales and claws behind him.

As they reached the bottom, Bilbo gave him a smile and his cloak.

 


	2. At the Strike of Midnight

 

'I kissed the wrong person on new years' AU – peggyicarter via tumblr

One drunk, one hairstyle and one mistake.

 

 

Bilbo shouldn't have come.

Not for the reasons he had started with when leaving his apartment that night: he wouldn't know enough people, the food wouldn't be good, the alcohol would be cheap. If anything that had been totally flipped: Bofur's family were kind and welcoming, the food was amazing, the drinks only second. Honestly, Bombur and Dori were making him delirious in happiness. Probably more of Dori's doing, what with how he kept the whiskey-ginger-ales coming. This one was just as good as all those others before.

Bilbo was quite drunk, so no, he shouldn't have come.

Shanking his head, Bilbo returned to his previous spot, where he and Ori went off to the races again with comparing their favorite sci-fi books and short stories.

After some more laughter about aliens and originality, Bilbo found himself wandering around again. It was nice, to feel almost part of another massive family. Relatives right and left- it was almost as big as the Baggins Christmas Eve party just last week. He had to wait just as long for a new drink. Maybe parties this big were not all happy, even with the inevitable, entertaining family drama.

And it was then, when he was slightly swaying without meaning to, when the chime for the countdown began. He had been so fixated on getting a drink he had forgotten. And Bofur had offered a (platonic, Nori had cut in) kiss - and Bilbo was suddenly so tired of not having fun and getting a little kiss out of it all.

But his time was running out- quite literally, as there was another chime. But there- there was a face framed by braids.

Quite rudely, Bilbo elbowed a few people out of the way, and with barely a second to spare, Bilbo pulled on those braids (huh, were Bofur's always this thin?) and pulled the face down to his. Also- was Bofur's beard always this full?

Bilbo kept his lips pressed against the other pair until the last two chimes went- and the cheer of Happy New Year rung out with bells and poppers.

Only then did he lean back and open his eyes, a laugh and thanks already on his lips for his best buddy Bofur.

Only it wasn't Bofur's warm brown eyes that he connected with- but ice blue, which could only mean Bilbo had not kissed his best friend. No, this was a complete stranger.

A cough aside- Bilbo turned to see Bofur (so he _had_ seen him first then) and Nori snickering before the former said: “Bilbo, may I have the honor of introducing you to my cousin Thorin?”

Bilbo turned back, mouth gaping and face now warm not only from the alcohol.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Thorin said with a rumbling voice and straight face that had Bilbo instantly liking him.

The next time Bilbo kissed Thorin, two weeks and three dates later, he actually meant to.

  



	3. Honeybee

 

'Mandatory Barista' AU

One professor, one cup and one smile.

 

 

He comes in anywhere between 2:23 and 2:34, the professor with the horn-rimed glasses and faded blazers. He teaches English, but the leather patches on the elbows suggest History. Then again, his easy smile and rough hands (Thorin's felt them on occasion while handing over the tea) would suggest a baker or gardener and not a lazy academic. Regardless, he blends in among the liberal-arts college kids that flock to Thorin's nearby cafe that's _just_ shitty enough.

“The regular, if you'd please, Fili.”

Thorin absolutely doesn't turn around or acknowledge the man's presence, but still he's greeted.

“And good afternoon to you, Mr. Thorin.”

He always does that, even with his last name of 'Durin' so obviously on the sign outside. Some English professor he must be with that grammar.

Knowing he was at his corner table by now, glasses hanging down his nose and tongue pressed to his upper lip in concentration, Thorin looked up from pouring milk to find Mr. Baggins was reading today. Most days he went over student's papers, if the nostalgic blue books were anything to go by.

The next day he ordered chai instead of his usual grey, and this time it was Kili behind the counter. The teenager was taking ever opportunity to practice flirting (not that it would help him with that redheaded park ranger) and the professor played along beautifully. Enough to make Kili blush and stutter; Thorin's teeth were not grinding, no. Those were the coffee beans he was working on.

The next day was a Thursday and Mr. Baggins was not in by 2:34, the latest he had ever been in three years. Three passed into four, and at five they closed. The scarce leftover pastries were devoured by his nephews on the walk home; Thorin himself chewed over why he had not seen one of the (eight) plaid blazers Mr. Baggins owned.

It was three days later before the man came in, a massive scarf swathing the lower half of his face (completely hiding his oddly pointed ears) and an equal giant sweater hiding his torso.

Thorin moved away from making a latte (pushing Fili away from the register to finish it) and moved to take the professor's order.

“First time sick in years and feeling like absolute shit- but still. An addiction is an addiction,” he said with a laugh that quickly morphed to a phlegm-filled hack.

Thorin felt his eyebrows furrow.

“Did I make you worry?”

Thorin knew without doubt Mr. Baggins was giving the brightest smile he could manage in his state. He must've forgotten the scarf hid it all but for the crinkles at his eyes.

Thorin had the tea ready in a flash and the sick man gave a grateful not before sitting down.

He looked so small, in all those knits, that after he finished his tea Thorin brewed him another. The man was their most dedicated regular, after all. He deserved at least some special treatment. That was what Thorin told himself as he dripped a sinful amount of honey into the cup.

Thorin slid the offering across the table almost guiltily, not looking into those hazel eyes in fear of finding rejection. The professor reached forward to still the ceramic cup on its saucer, and then continued on to land on Thorin's.

“When I said addiction, I meant seeing your face, not the tea.”

Thorin blinked, as always at a loss for words.

“I know, not the smoothest, but can you blame me? I'm a professor of diction, but my brain's a little scrambled. Maybe that's why I'm finally breaking out routine.”

“Mr. Baggins-”

“Actually, it's Dr. Baggins. But you can call me Bilbo.”

This time Thorin was the one smiling brightly.

 


	4. Educate Yourself

 

'We're both teachers and all our students ship us' AU – peggyicarter via tumblr

One pen, one pot of coffee, and one agreement.

 

 

Bilbo taught English and Thorin taught Math so, naturally, they were sworn enemies from the start. And so, naturally, all their students thought they were in an illicit affair.

That was it all for the first few months since Bilbo had joined Gandalf's school. Really, if he wasn't working on his doctorate on the side, having to deal with these low-level classes might've just killed him from boredom. But it was a cross most new teachers had to bear.

Another (heavier) cross  _all_  teachers had to shoulder was supervising the SATs. Kids thought that they had it bad (well, they were pretty right in that), but the teachers had to sit there for hours, too. Watching their students struggle to maintain sanity and sharp pencil points.

This Saturday Bilbo found himself worrying as well not from forgetting a number-2, but from forgetting a grading pen. Knowing there was barely five minutes left, Bilbo decided to go over and ask the next room.

Only when he opened the door it was Thorin who looked up, as well as the entire room of students he had been assigned to. The gasp was audible even from the doorway. The excited titters even more so.

"Uh- you wouldn't happen to have a pen, would you?" Bilbo asked, taking a brave step forward.

Wordlessly, Thorin lifted a pen. And it was red- just what Bilbo needed for grading all those essays. For the first time, Bilbo thanked the gods above for creating Thorin (alright, that was a lie: he did it first when he saw the man in short-sleeves with those Greek-god muscles).

It was two weeks later by chance, when he was chatting to the art teacher Ori, that the man mentioned how Thorin had complained about sitting in the SATs with nothing to do. Bilbo realized in a start Thorin had given Bilbo his pen, his  _lifeline_ , without asking for anything in return.

He had an occasion to make it up to his fellow teacher when they were having a late night in the teacher's lounge, living off caffeine and the pressure that it'd already been weeks since these tests had been taken. They needed to get them back before their students forgot they'd even taken them.

At the deep sigh, Bilbo looked up to see the empty coffee pot, the empty instant coffee container, and Thorin's grimace.

"I keep some of my own up in that cabinet," Bilbo said, pointing to the high location.

Thorin raised an eyebrow, clearly doubting.

"I climb the counter to get it, ok?" Bilbo muttered, looking back down to misspellings and run-on sentences.

"Thanks," Thorin said, jumping Bilbo into awareness of how he had moved his stack of papers to sit across of Bilbo.

He tried to hold it down, but the giggle and blush had Bilbo looking down to avoid criticism. Not that Thorin gave any; in fact, he helped Bilbo into his coat when they left.

Rumors resurfaced, students watched them more avidly then before, but this time Bilbo and Thorin didn't find annoyance in it.

 


	5. Stalker or Samaritan?

 

'I just saw you on the street and you looked really miserable and I just had to follow you and see if I could do anything to make you feel better' AU – ask-artist-maddie-williams via tumblr

One follower, one bench, and one introduction.

 

 

This fool in the bulky cardigan was following him and Thorin couldn't figure out _why_.

As a lawyer, it was understandable that he'd made enemies in this concrete jungle. But this man was clearly not in his profession by that shaggy haircut (fictional Foggy be damned). The way he shuffled was uncoordinated, so clearly not a hit-man (as ridiculous and eight-year-old-Kili-esque it was).

The man followed Thorin down streets and around corners. Since Thorin had gone out this lazy afternoon with intent to wander, they were essentially running circles around each other.

Eventually Thorin had had enough, and if he learned anything from all his years in law, it was to offer a hand forward with something the other liked or wanted, so as to avoid said hand getting bitten (and gnawed). By the way the man's stomach poked out from the unflattering knits, Thorin diverted to a small park and bought two ice-cream cones. He decided on strawberry.

The man had sat on a bench when Thorin went to stand in line, so without pause, Thorin went to join him. Wordless still, Thorin offered a cone and the other took it. The stranger stared at Thorin before he looked away and started to lick in an almost mournful way. Finally he explained:

“I'm trying to find a way to cheer you up, and _you_ end up buying _me_ ice cream.”

Thorin frowned, knowing his grimace was entering the 'danger level' as Fili liked to giggle.

“I-I know it sounds weird, we've never seen each other until today- but when I saw you at the corner waiting to cross the street, I couldn't help but watch you the entire time it took for the light to change. I just... wanted to follow. To see if there was anything I could do.”

Dis always said Thorin never talked enough, even being a lawyer. Clearly this individual had no problem with that.

“And now you've bought me ice-cream, me _the creep_ , and now I feel indebted and like a failed thief and- and- _I'm so sorry_.”

Thorin looked over again, his own ice-cream long forgotten, and watched as the man cried and ate at the same time. An ability that seemed natural.

“Truth is _I'm_ the one whose lost and alone and maybe I thought if I could help you I could somehow convince myself this city isn't so bad and everyone isn't out to eat me. Metaphorically or not,” the man hiccuped.

Thorin actually saw the stranger now: a writer, or a painter- an artist at heart, getting disillusioned by this city's smells and callous citizens. He lifted a hand (the one not covered in dripping pink) and dropped it on the man's back.

“I'm Thorin.”

“Bilbo.”

Bilbo lifted his cone to start nibbling away again, but at least the tears had stopped.

“You're the first person who's been nice to me,” he said with another pathetic sniffle. “Can we go get some crappy, overpriced coffee so I can thank you for at least cheering _me_ up?”

Thorin nodded and stood, throwing away his uneaten ice-cream in the adjoining rubbish bin without a thought. Bilbo glanced at his hand, and seeing its state, took out a handkerchief and held it out with a crooked smile. It was clearly special to him by how worn it was, but he offered it with raw kindness.

When Thorin took it with a grateful nod, he realized Bilbo had done what he'd set out to do.

 


	6. Gold Over Blue

 

'Employer and employee' AU

One garden, one stranger, and one development.

 

 

Sometimes Bilbo was scared- no, maybe _hesitant_ is better word - of his boss, Mr. Durin. Partially because of the secrecy (he didn't even know the man's first name, much less how his voice sounded) and mostly because Bilbo was not ok with not knowing.

He could pass strangers on the street and idly wonder about them, but not have a true, strong desire to know them past their face. And that's what this blue-eyed employer was: a stranger. The only certainty Bilbo had in relation to the man was that he did Mr.Durin's gardening and at (rare) times Bilbo would see the man pass by with impressive, important strides.

Yet Bilbo was friends of the staff at the house, and at least they were hospitable and human. The chauffeur Bofur was a champ, as was the cook Bombur and his gaggle of children. Bilbo didn't really know why there was a need for two bodyguards of Dwalin and Nori when Mr. Durin looked stern enough to take anyone out with a glare. There were more to maintain the mansion, but they were in and out a tad more.

Yet most days Bilbo kept to himself in the garden, and then went to sleep in the little cottage hidden away in crawling ivy and overgrown rosemary bushes. Here it was simple with his dented copper kettle and overflowing bookshelves, but that's the way Bilbo liked it.

But it all changed one day, when he looked up from pruning some roses to see a pair of ice eyes. In the two years that Bilbo had been in the employment of this property, he had never been even glanced at by the owner. And yet here was Mr. Durin now, in one of his impeccable suits with his white collar so high it looked uncomfortable.

“Mr. Baggins, I presume.”

Bilbo could really only nod, and flex his fingers to make the clippers in his hand snap to a close. Even with the click, Mr. Durin's eyes remained fixed on Bilbo's face. Knowing his luck, his nose was brown not from the sun but dirt.

And then his employer turned away, and Bilbo relaxed his grip and let the cutters' blades creak free of each other.

That first day Bilbo learned how Mr.Durin's voice sounded; the second he learned the names of the two boys who often frequented the property; the third he learned that Mr. Durin preferred what he was doing with the gold flowers over any other color; the fourth he invited Mr. Durin in for tea and the man accepted.

It took quite a few meetings more for Bilbo to become comfortable around the stoic man who towered over him with not only height but reclusiveness. And even after all those, it took even longer for Mr. Durin to give Bilbo his first name.

“Mine's Bilbo,” he blurted instead of a thank-you immediately after. “Just so all's fair and that.”

Mr. Durin still hadn't smiled, but it looked almost as if he wanted to. Yet even in the privacy of the cabin, this man who adored common black-eyed Susans was unwilling to open up.

But Bilbo was one with patience: you had to be when you were dealing with the fragility of tomatoes. And he grew the best. In fact, he could make any stubborn flower bloom or vegetable produce with the right words or water.

Bilbo could wait for Thorin.

 


	7. A Stone Hero

 

'I'm a police officer and you're a mess' AU

One sculpture, one lost love, and one offer.

 

 

Thorin didn't mind being an officer of the law most paper-work-filled days and obviously-unwanted-overtime nights. The town of theirs was small and everyone knew each other, so the embarrassment of being on everyone's lips the next morning over breakfast gossip was usually enough to offset any miscreants. Sure, Thorin lived on one side under the shadow of massive cool mountains and those in 'Hobbiton' didn't like to come over that much but, well, they were snobs and Thorin didn't want them around anyway.

Except that there would be the rare intermingling: as in now. As in the person sitting on the statue was clearly from Hobbiton. Because Thorin knew him: they had both gone to school (the one right behind them on this property right now in fact) when they had been youths. His name was Bilbo Baggins and Thorin remembered because he'd been irrevocably in love with the younger lad for nearly a decade.

But he'd gone away years ago on a grand adventure to be a great writer and hadn't come back. Until now, that is.

“Sir, I'll need you to come down.”

Bilbo nearly toppled off from the shock, and Thorin could just see in the streetlamp's light Bilbo lift a hand to wave.

“Mr. Durin, how you've grown! Those arms look as big as this sculpture's, even this far up!”

Thorin faltered for a second, thinking how shocking it had been that Bilbo remembered his name as well. Had recognized him after all these years, most of them not being kind to Thorin if the stock of silver beginning at his temple were anything to go off of.

“Sir, I'll ask you again-”

“Alright, don't get your hair tangled in your beard,” Bilbo said with a sigh. “I didn't know they allowed police officers to grow it so long.”

Thorin bit his tongue, thinking how Dwalin and him would trade quips about the opposite nature of their heads as partners. Good thing he was still in the car, as this looked anything but tiresome. Except, well, it was Thorin's long lost crush come back from the proverbial dead. More stressful than tiresome.

Thorin let him go with a warning, and watched as Bilbo's bare feet walked away on the cobblestones. He had used those toes more than his fingers climbing back down.

The next time he saw Bilbo was at the diner, with a boy who Nori said was his adopted nephew or another. After that it was the grocery store, then the post office, and lastly at the little donut corner when Thorin and Dwalin walked in wearing full-uniform.

He knew Bilbo was giggling at the cliché.

The next time was anything but humorous- Thorin and Dwalin got called in for a drunk who didn't want to leave the bar. Thorin knew it was Bilbo just by his curls alone, even with them rumpled and weighed down with more grease than usual.

How cliché this was, too: the struggling, hurting artist.

They drove him home, and they only had to pull over once for Bilbo to throw up. Once they left him (again, another warning because Thorin was weakened by pity and not blind affection), Dwalin said something Thorin had not expected.

“Poor lad. Left because he's the black sheep of his community, and I bet he feels more lonely and lost than ever, what with having a kid thrust on him and bringing him home and all that. Tough break.”

And Thorin thought _his_ life was a fucking mess.

So the next day Thorin went over with a bouquet of kale and a box of yellow squash. Bilbo smiled first at his face before looking down to the vegetables with a lifted eyebrow. The shorter man didn't really need to know right away that Thorin had stolen them from Dis' garden and she'd be out for his beard come sunrise.

“I practically raised Kili and Fili once their father died. I can- I'll help you with your lad if you- if you'll have me.”

And for what felt like the first time, Thorin saw Bilbo smile. And for what felt like the thousandth time, Thorin realized he was in love with the idiot.

 


	8. A Call Unlike Any Other

 

'A lawyer and his constantly arrested, thorn-in-the-ass client' AU – based off of the tags from onelassieandherfandoms on richardrmitage's post

One rebel, one unknown number, and one date.

  


 

Apparently he'd gotten Bilbo's number off of Gandalf, the insufferable family-friend. When the man in gray had casually confessed to giving the nightmare that was Mr. Durin his number, Bilbo had been sorely tempted to grab and throw Gandalf's beloved glittering scarf into the murky Thames.

The first time it was Thorin banging on a person's car hood until it dented. True, the car had almost hit him while he was in a zebra-crossing, but it didn't help that the person driving was an off-duty police officer.

The second time it was him allowing his nephews to play in a fountain in the park. The authorities had told him to get them out, only for Thorin himself to take his clothes ( _all_ of them) and join the boys. It _had_ been entertaining a bit to see the burly man dripping in his cell in only a towel that barely made it around his hips.

The third time was because he'd been a complete drunken idiot and let loose the richest man's private flock of deer into a nearby park. Thranduil had been furious, and it had taken all of Bilbo's skill and favors to pull the (imbecilic) man out.

The fourth time- _well_. There was also a number five, and a number six after that. Nearly into the double-digits now. Bilbo had been almost impressed when Thorin had been the one-in-a-billion to get arrested for j-walking.

But he always paid Bilbo promptly after each jailing, so it was never _that_ bad. Only when it was two in the morning and Bilbo had just crawled into bed, eyes tired from reading so much legal jargon. Seriously, the prince of the massive Blue Mountains sports equipment chain was lucky.

This morning felt like any other, with Bilbo sitting down with a good cuppa at his desk, when his personal (not the one designated for most clients) mobile lit up cheerily. When he saw it was from an unknown number, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance before picking up.

“Who is this?”

“And good morning to you, Mr. Baggins.”

Bilbo blinked before snapping: “My god Thorin, it isn't bad enough that you get jailed all the time, but now you aren't even in _ours_?”

“What?”

“Don't 'what' me! Eventually I just put in your name under the police department's 'one-call' phone, so I wouldn't be surprised anymore. So where did you get yourself arrested if not here?”

Thorin was silent for a long moment before: “Uh, no, actually, this is my mobile.”

“Are you _about_ to get arrested then? Should I put on my trainers, ready to run you out?”

“Bilbo-Mr. Baggins, no. I'm calling because I wanted to ask you to dinner.”

“You don't have to do that,” Bilbo said in a huff, still riled. “I don't expect special treatment, even with how good a lawyer I am to you.”

“It's not- great gods above, you're not listening to me. _I'm asking you to dinner_.”

Bilbo blinked at that tone: almost vulnerable. The exact opposite to their usual squabbles and hisses. He almost sounded- _nervous_ , if Bilbo was to give that low voice a description.

“I'm free tonight. I'm allergic to seafood, and I cannot stand veal.”

“I can work with that,” Thorin said as Bilbo heard the click of a pen. Was the man actually taking notes, even when he would no doubt remember such an easy request?

Nervous, indeed.

Bilbo had never thought he'd use that, or the word 'adorable' to describe a six-foot, bearded man with a braid, but here he was.

“Would half past six work for you?”

“Quite,” Bilbo agreed lightly, a fingertip twirling around the bag of tea still steeping. “And don't get arrested before then, yes? I'll never forgive you if we end up with iron bars between us instead of a candle.”

“Not this time,” Thorin said with a relieved sigh that bordered on a chuckle.

 


	9. That Little Extra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I ever get all my other WIP stories done (HAH), I'm doing a 15,000 word AU for this. It deserves it.

'Rich Dad vs Poor Babysitter' AU

One party, one desperate surrogate Dad, and one lonely writer.

  
  


 

He never takes the extra money Thorin leaves him, even when it's in plain sight and with the rest of the cash. Instead Mr. Baggins calculates and leaves change- and yes, Thorin understands that they're in the south of London and not the heart of the States where tipping is rampant but- _damn_ the man for not understanding and accepting the charity.

Because Thorin really does appreciate him- the bespectacled man. Mr. Baggins. Thorin is more than a little vague on what it _is_ exactly the short man in warn waistcoats does- something with his hands. They're rough and calloused, but his stomach is much too soft for hard labor. But there are consistent rings under his eyes, cursed to be perpetually tired. Thorin knows the easier, polite thing to do is ask. But they don't talk much- or at least Thorin doesn't when he manages to get home relatively early.

And Mr. Baggins is usually straight out the door when Thorin comes in at the dead of night- or early morning depending on if you refused it was the next day until you woke in the morning.

No doubt running off to do his mysterious job that allowed Thorin to call on his services at any time.

Still- it makes it impossible for Thorin to thank him in the only way he sees fit. Of course it doesn't help his guilt that Fili and Kili are positively bonkers for the lad. If Kili isn't already dedicated to marrying the young lifeguard lass at the local pool, he would have proposed with one of those sugar-cereal ring-prizes months ago.

Thorin blinked- it couldn't be years already, and yet. Kili's now seven and Bilbo started just after his fifth birthday. He'd been with the caterer’s at that point, and once he had made Kili stop throwing cake and simply eating it like it was supposed to be used, Thorin had (begged) hired him on the spot for spotting the boys when he was detained at work past the nanny's hours.

But that changes one night, when Thorin comes back to see that Bilbo has kipped out on the couch. His fingers are dyed with ink from an old-fashioned fountain pen- he was writing on a yellow legal pad of paper in neat, flowery handwriting.

Thorin blinks- and realizes that the dirt under his nails hasn't been that at all- or grease like he's also speculated. It was ink- Mr.Baggins is a writer.

The bastard's a romantic artist in a world of increased technology and restricted attention spans for long literature. No wonder he isn't taking the extra money- he's too fucking prideful.

Thorin does the only thing he really can: takes the pad so it wouldn't get crumpled and the pen so it wouldn't leak, and covers the babysitter in a thick blanket Dis had knitted in her teen years long ago.

The next morning Kili and Fili try to make french-toast in glee that Mr. Boggins had stayed over and fail miserably. But it does accomplish what they'd set out to do in a way: Mr. Baggins stays for breakfast with chuckles.

It's the first time since Fili's birthday party some months ago that Thorin has been witness to the strong intimacy Mr. Baggin's has grown with his boys- and while Thorin naturally feels a little threatened, he's mostly accepting.

Just as Mr. Baggins is to possibly staying over most nights.

And that's how Thorin finds himself with a new nanny: one that prefers to cook and leave the dishes for him, and who sticks his feet under Thorin's thighs when it gets cold in the winter. Yes, his previous lady had been decent, but the boys behaved better and Thorin likes having Bilbo around. And hearing the horror stories of his previous flat, it's a step up for the shorter man as well.

Now Thorin can simply wire the extra bonuses straight to Bilbo's bank account. _Hah_.

 


	10. Tell Me About It

 

'A toddler broke your nose and I may or may not have snapped my thumb during a very intense game of Mario Kart and now we're both sitting next to each other in the hospital waiting room' AU – ironinkpen via tumblr

One waiting room, one cookie and one cast.

 

 

It was the definition of shooting himself in the foot (without actually doing the action, but hey, he was already in a hospital so), when Bilbo turned to the stranger and asked a question he would inevitably mimic. But it was the only thing that Bilbo had in his mind with the distractions of the pain in his hand and the blue of this stranger's eyes.

"What happened to you?"

"A three-year-old nephew who wanted the last cookie."

Bilbo blinked, resisted the urge to flex his right hand, and waited. Only the man did not ask him how he had gotten here. So Bilbo resorted to his best weapon: aimless wit to make the person say what Bilbo wanted to hear just to make it stop.

"I myself was injured in a more technological way. Have you heard of Mario Kart? Of course you have. By the way your biceps are nearly bursting the seams of that t-shirt, I'm sure that you're all about video games and shutting yourself indoors all day. That tan says it all."

The man gave a curt glance, nothing more. Bilbo thought he was going to have to keep going, but he took the bait.

"You don't look injured."

"Ah yes, because I need crusty blood on my t-shirt like you."

"It's just a broken nose."

Bilbo's eyes narrowed, thinking that without the slight notch in his nose (which was turning purple already geez, where were those nurses already?) the clear line would be even more distracting. And now that he stared (unabashedly, always) more, Bilbo noted the silver at his temple and wondered if it was premature. The man seemed old, not not too excessively long in the tooth.

"You're staring."

"Just thinking about that scene in Fargo. You gonna kill who did this to me?"

Another glance of cool intermingling blues and confusion.

"Because I'd be alright with that. No one here's to overhear us at the moment, and my cousin Lobelia deserves it. She purposefully turned the oven temperature up when I wasn't looking so my cookies burned. Burned like  _sinners_  when she's the one who needs to repent. This was me trying to get revenge, but that pact with the devil when she handed over her soul at six is stronger than expected."

Bilbo felt giddy with glee when the man did a sharp short-chuckle, and then instantly felt bad when he winced and his hand flew up to touch his nose. A few fresh drops of blood dropped down, brighter than the rustier red of the older stains.

"Fuck, I'm bad at this," Bilbo said with a grimace. "But really, can you blame me?"

"The pain distracting you?" the man muttered.

"More like your presence."

Sometimes Bilbo had to try and convince himself he was a full-fledged adult. This entire situation it had been a familial buzz in the back of his head, like bees buzzing in the heat of summer. But soon he knew the stinger would come and yes, here he was opening his mouth- but hey, that wasn't a grimace-

"I'm Thorin."

 


	11. To Give a Damn

 

'Fallen angel' AU

One mortal, one warrior and one relation.

 

 

The raucous golden curls atop the short man's head was the only indication that what he was saying was true, and that was only because of the stereotypical image of angels Thorin had grown up with as a child and was reaffirmed in nearly every painting he saw in museums now as an adult.

Besides that, the stranger was wearing an out-of-time waistcoat with odd acorn buttons, as well as corduroy pants cut much too short. His shirt was billowy and he was oddly enough not wearing shoes. But that wasn't as odd as how big his feet were, and how _hairy_.

“Someone really fucked up upstairs if they sent you down looking like that expecting people to believe you're an angel.”

The stranger frowned, the left end of his lips twitching in clear distaste when Thorin swore. Thorin didn't care; he stuffed his hands in his pockets and refused to break eye-contact.

“I mean- your feet are _weird_. Where are your wings instead?”

But the man's eyes- the most unique mixture of hazel he'd ever seen. The greens and browns seemed to dance in his eyes, even without anything changing around them. When Thorin looked back to their first meeting, he decided that was what made him decide at that time to invite the man to follow him along.

There was a shed in the back of his humble yard that Fili and Kili had built in their youth and abandoned in their university years. At least, until they would come back and smoke up the place with the stale smell of cigarettes and something a little more pungent.

Thorin didn't check to see if there was a mattress, or if there was at least something covering the dirty floor, but he was tired from working all day at his dead-end retail job. He just wanted to get home, have a beer (or four, five- six ok that's all) and knock out and hope he would sleep through a night for once.

When he woke in the morning with fat rays of sunlight on his face and bare chest, Thorin first couldn't compute that he'd overslept past his alarm, and then remembered it was his blessed day off. He got up with a groan and went to brew coffee, and when he looked out to see how pathetic his back-yard was after the most recent winter, he remembered he'd picked up a bum last night.

A bum who claimed to be a fallen angel, who currently had birds all over his shoulders and curls. Who was singing to his plants it seemed. Thorin's grip didn't loosen, but tightened, in shock as he watched tomatoes with their fuzzy stalks arch to the sky and beans climb the wiring in his fence Dis had insisted upon, but not kept up.

Thorin stared, and then went back upstairs to put a shirt on. Probably not good to meet one of God's warriors half-naked. His feet were still weird.

The angel liked his tea disgustingly sweet, after turning up his button-nose to Thorin's black coffee.

While Thorin sat there, watching the angel squirt more honey in his warm drink, he tried to figure out this astronomical joke. Because if God was really real, he was really fucked up to let what happened happen in this world and then to stick a foot out to keep a door open for _Thorin_ of all people.

“I came because I wanted to. Because I watched you and you're special to _me_.”

Thorin looked away from his musings and up to the angel, who had forgone the tea and was just eating the honey straight. It was seeping out his gleaming white teeth, like he bled golden sap.

'Great,' Thorin thought in equal parts shock, amazement and wariness. 'I have an angel stalker.'

 


	12. Annunciate

  
  


'Personal tutor' AU

One disgraced royal, one man of words, and one language.

 

 

A child with unruly dark hair answered the door, immediately giving a smile with an obvious gap in the two rows of white, before yelling back in a string of noises Bilbo couldn't translate. He felt the familiar itch of wanting to understand, but stamped it down.

Instead he smiled down to the boy when he looked back. He was used to teaching children, and he guessed that this was his newest pupil. It often made sense, parents wanting their kids' minds to grow to accommodate more before they lost the ability- at least it made sense until the boy opened his mouth and invited him in with perfect English.

As Bilbo rubbed his feet on the ratty doormat, the boy took his bag and coat before disappeared around a corner, only to be immediately replaced by two heads of blonde. One was a boy similar to the one just left, but the other was a gorgeous woman with a stern expression that didn't leave when she nodded and welcomed him as well. She had a thick accent, but otherwise was quite articulate.

Bilbo sat down and had tea, and learned that they came from a small, nearly forgotten country in the northern parts of Europe. He wanted to ask about the recent coup of the royalty by the biggest businessman of the country, but it was a passing thought. Bilbo remembered more importantly about reading of how secretly they guarded their native language; no wonder he'd practically jumped in curiosity when the boy had talked.

He had a similar reaction when a burly, bearded man came in and began positively barking to the blonde woman, whose face simultaneously hardened and teased.

When the man glanced at Bilbo, he found himself straightening his spin.

“My brother will be the one you're to teach,” Dis said with a sigh. “He was too stubborn to learn when we were home, but now that we're here, well...”

At first Thorin wouldn't listen to Bilbo at all. And then somehow the man came to some silent agreement with his disagreeable self and began actually listening to Bilbo. He learned the alphabet and how to write easily enough, even if his lines for his letters were severe and sharp.

Weeks passed, and Bilbo found himself thoroughly stuck on this grump of a man. Sure, it was always harder for adults to learn languages than children. Kili and Fili had picked it up in no time because their brains were still full to burst with potential. It was sad in a way, as Thorin really was trying most days.

Sometimes Thorin got so frustrated he threw books and papers against walls, and Bilbo would go make a couple cuppas, and when he came back, Thorin would have picked up his mess. It was endearing to see those massive shoulders slumped, properly chastised by himself.

Eventually, after brutal months adding up to past half a year, Thorin had a rudimentary grip on English. Only it suddenly didn't matter much, as they were going back and leaving Bilbo alone with all his words but no one else.

“Come with me,” Thorin spoke.

“Why?” Bilbo asked, wondering how Thorin thought it was as easy as to just up and leave his home for some unknown adventure.

“Because,” Thorin said with a shy smirk before putting a hand behind Bilbo's head and angling his face to look up at his.

There was no words between the kiss, and Bilbo realized that love was as universal as music.

 


	13. Complementary Colors

  
  


'Rival mascots got in a fight' AU

One game, one rivalry, and one picture

 

 

Thorin had been in a variety of scuffles in his life: schoolyard fights to protect his family's name, bar fights to protect his sister's personal bubble, fights against said sister arguing she didn't need any help, pretend fights with his nephews, wrestling fights between friends for fun, and that one time he'd sucker-punched Smaug, the slimy bastard that had taken his company and forced him into these deplorable jobs.

And it was exactly on one of said shitty jobs where he got into a fight he couldn't believe. One where he'd been dressed as a ram and the other a bee. From all the cushioning of their mascot suits, the blows primarily hadn't meant all that much. Everyone mostly thought it was just a publicity stunt. Until the helmets came off and they were at each other's throats.

Sure, the universities they represented were rivals, but that didn't mean Thorin had to take the goading from the bee. He knew it was stupid; Thorin had been lured in by the man shaking his ass and spanking it in jest.

So now the two of them sat in a cell together, empty but for them. One in bright, sickening sky blue and the other in stripes of neon yellow and black. Thorin was sporting a bloody nose (might be broken _again_ ) and the other had a bruiser on his left eye. They made quite a picture, especially with the other man having such an insufferable frown on his soft face.

“I'm not apologizing,” the bee with a man's head covered with dark golden curls said.

“I wouldn't accept anything,” Thorin snapped back readily.

They were silent for a while, and then the other seemed to sigh and deflate in his polyester and felt.

“And I'm absolutely not doing anything with you to pass the time.”

Thorin turned to the stranger, nostrils painfully flaring as he felt his pride and anger spike. How dare this man first even think Thorin would be up for a tumble with a damn insect dressed as a bee in a piss-soaked cell.

But then he caught the half-grin and huff of laughter from the man, and Thorin didn't see red anymore and allowed his back to hit the wall again.

“Maybe if it's a slow day we'll get front page in the sport's section.”

Thorin grunted.

“Personally, I would think it'd be funnier if we were caught in a more compromising position here. What's crazier than rival mascots fighting? Snogging, that's what.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Thorin growled.

The man turned to him, eyes a bright hazel full of spite and cunning.

“Come over here and _make me_.”

Needless to say, Thorin did make the front page, but not of the sports section. When the police officer had come to release them, he'd snapped a quick pic of them 'embracing with their lips' and it had blown up online, and then in newspapers. They were on the front page nearly everywhere in the city.

It was enough pressure to make them start dating, and what with everyone just waiting for them to break up, Thorin had no other option but to marry the bastard named Bilbo Baggins.

(Dis had joked they should get married in their suits and had cackled about it for a good five minutes. When Thorin followed through with the proposal, she smoldered in anger for a good five _days_.)

 


	14. Puff, Puff, Pass

 

'Uni BUDdies' AU

One sophomore slump, one campus security car and one spliff.

 

 

Bilbo sat outside the porch on the art house, purposefully excluding himself from the party inside. In one hand was a piss-pour light beer, and the other a massive spliff Gamgee had shoved at him on his way out. He'd yelled over the music something about how maybe the weed would mellow his spirits into actually dancing and making eyes back at the ones who were checking Bilbo out. (Which was beyond Bilbo, what with the paunch already at nineteen and the heels of his oxfords nearly falling off. At least he had the Undecided-Inevitably-English major down pat at only a just-returning sophomore.)

Bilbo would feel bad about taking such a massive gift, but Gamgee had the stuff up to his eyeballs. He grew it all and sold it on the side- he was anything but too poor to give a pretty hand-out to his best friend since childhood.

Bilbo moved his eyes from twirling the concoction of white paper and brown leaves of various species that was currently lit to a pair of polished, black and decidingly expensive pair of loafers before him. Bilbo took a deep drag in defiance for this person who had decided to stop and silently judge him up-close for toking up. Bilbo enjoyed the heady, heavy feeling of the smoke in his lungs before raising his eyes-

And realizing he had made a mistake. Because he saw the long, almost horse-faced person before him was the TA teaching him about American writing.

"Professor," Bilbo managed to get out after all the smoke and coughs.

"Not yet, Mr. Baggins."

"How do you know my name when there's nearly forty in our class?"

Impressive shoulders shrugged, and Bilbo became fascinated with how the action looked in a crisp, short-sleeved button-down.

Mister I'm-not-a-Professor-YET-Durin continued staring down at the pathetic undergrad that was Bilbo before the later snapped and lowered his eyebrows and mouth in a frown.

"Gonna take a picture so you have actual evidence other than your word?" Bilbo asked out.

And then something happened that Bilbo had no idea would happen: Mister Hot-and-Unattainable sat down and lifted his left hand out expectantly. Of course all the younger of the two could do was stare and wonder just what he wanted.

"The joint? Or has its name already changed?"

Bilbo was so speechless he didn't correct him that it was a spliff.

"Wacky tobaccy, Reefer, Grass, Mary Jane, Hippie Lettuce, Ganja, Dope, Hash, Weed- need I continue?"

Bilbo swallowed, his throat clicking.

"And honestly, I think you're a tad too small to do that all by yourself."

Still wordless, but now at least no longer immobile, Bilbo handed over the illegal (well, maybe they needed to get behind America in something, eh?) substance to the man who clearly had a hard, unoriginal boner for Kurt Vonnegut.

They sat, and it was when Thorin was taking his third hit (and wow could he inhale) when a pair of headlights started coming down the cobble-lane. As the twin beams got closer, Bilbo realized it was of a model the security used, not a rundown shit car of any university kid.

In a flash Bilbo grabbed Thorin's forearm without thinking much of it and pulled them away.

He maneuvered them in the shadows on the side of the house before continuing on towards the lawn at the back, and then onwards to one of the larger dorm structures. It was only after a sprint that had lasted five minutes and left them in the main green, beside the fountain of a nymph and a satyr, did Bilbo let go of Thorin and begin to laugh his smoked-lungs and head out.

When he turned and saw Thorin had kept the spliff that was nearly a roach now, taking yet another puff indifferently with blues eyes now slightly glazed and adjoined with red, Bilbo thought he was going to hurl from laughing with so much force.

 


	15. Leader of the Pack

 

'Ended up adopting like three dogs because that pet shelter employee is really hot' AU – therightnippleofarcher via tumblr

One shelter, one park, and one name.

 

 

Thorin was in way over his head for two reasons. First, he already had eight dogs, but he had gone in this morning to get another, only to end up adopting two puppies. Second was the reason he had so many damn dogs: he had a crippling school-crush on the attendant at the shelter.

Sure, Thorin lived in an expansive mansion (thanks ancestors) and so had the room to let the dogs run and explore. And he had no problem finding names for the dogs, as the staff had made it a joke to name certain dogs after each other because they thought they looked like them.

(Yeah, the German Shepard he'd brought in last did look a bit like Bifur, but _still_.)

He had no doubt they would call these two new pups after Fili and Kili, even if they were mixed-breed mutts. Still, one had dark and the other light coloring. It would be enough.

(He heard the staff's whispers of how he hoped to eventually adopt twelve so they could all have their names to a pet. Thank whatever Gods they worshiped they were good at their jobs and family, else Thorin would have given them the boot and made _them_ the strays looking for a home.)

But damn it if Bilbo wasn't the most adorable, attractive person Thorin had ever clapped his eyes on. Now, if only he clap his lips on him and then maybe clap some other parts of theirs together as well-

Thorin shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts and focusing on all the leashes in his hands so they wouldn't pull ahead and be free. Before Thorin had been annoyed with squirrels; now he dreaded the moment they poked their heads out.

Some days he saw Bilbo at this park, and he could admit that was the reason he came here. But primarily because the dogs still adored him, and he wanted his dogs to be happy, yes?

Thorin was able to stay away from the shelter for two weeks before a bad day as CEO made him wish for something familiar and warm. So off to the shelter he went- and off his heart went when Bilbo answered the counter with Thorin's name familiar on his lips.

“Someone would think you're attempting to raise an army for yourself. Or maybe a pack of some sort.”

Thorin laughed too loud at the joke, but Bilbo didn't seem to mind. In fact, he began laughing his light laugh himself, and Thorin quieted immediately just so he could hear it better.

Fuck, he was worse than when the dogs were slobbering all over the tiled kitchen floor at dinner time.

For some reason Bilbo showed him all the dogs available, except one. So naturally Thorin asked about that one on the corner, and amazingly enough Bilbo blushed.

“Well, if you insist.”

It was a young husky that was mostly black but some white coloring. It looked out at Thorin, clear blue eyes open but wary. Crouching, Thorin offered the dog his hand. After a few minutes of solemn watching, the dog came and sniffed, licked once and lied back down, eyes darting between the two of them.

“She just came in yesterday.”

Thorin nodded, and asked: “Does she have a name? I know you do in your head.”

Bilbo's blush fanned out again, and Thorin realized why when he said: “Thorin. She reminded me of you.”

Needless to say, Thorin adopted the dog and asked Bilbo out and everything was suddenly right in the world. Everyone at the house was sad to know that there would be no more dogs, but were completely elated when Bilbo came to visit and called the newest addition 'Thorin.'

 


	16. Pace Is the Trick

 

'You walk so fucking slow so I tried walking on the grass to overtake your snail ass but my foot caught on a rock and your long fancy coat was the only thing I could grab on before I completely lost my dignity' AU – sachie-sama via tumblr

 

One sidewalk, one stumble and one skirmish.

  


 

 

Bilbo had seen this stranger at the park before, accompanying two children and a woman. They'd looked like a goddamn perfect family descended from the heavens above. The man looked straight out of an LL Bean catalog with his rugged good looks, hints of silver in his dark hair cropped close, and the plaid that he somehow made look fashionable instead of overused.

Bilbo had been going about his normal walk at the time, and he had sped up to overpass the family playing around the fountain all the faster. Why did all the good ones have to be taken and straight (or bisexual or _whatever_ ).

So this morning Bilbo attempted to do the same thing, seeing as the man was going the pace of a hundred-plus tortoise, or more frankly put, barely moving _at all_. Bilbo understood the chill of winter was staring up in earnest in their quaint east-coast town, slowing everything down from leaves to limbs, but Bilbo had places to be.

[That was a total lie. He just wanted to go home and eat a whole pie-pan of mac'n'cheese by himself and indulge himself in a re-watch of Wimbledon to deal with his homesickness and lovelorness.]

Bilbo had done it countless times before for those with smaller feet and shorter strides despite their longer legs. He simply hopped off the sidewalk to the grass that was beginning to slowly go into hiding. Yet when he was about to pass the tall, totally-unfairly-attractive-and-totally-married man, his foot caught on some devilry in the form of a misplaced rock.

Thinking fast, and so not thinking quite well, Bilbo lunged forward in a last-ditch effort to save face from the ground. His fingers landed on rough wool, and he held on tight as the stranger grunted, turned, and then elbowed Bilbo straight in the face when he turned in a whirl to see what had grabbed onto him.

So grabbing onto the coat was pointless, as the shock of getting hit made Bilbo lose grip and flop to the ground like a dead fish. As he opened his mouth, trying to just remember to breath through the pain, he found the metaphor all the more fitting.

“What were you _thinking_?!”

Bilbo blinked blurred eyes (yes he had put in his contacts this morning, this was just manly-tears), he saw the tall stranger kneeling down beside him. Not offering a hand or a handkerchief in the least; no, the man was just watching with an impressive furrowed brow.

Feeling indignant for getting injured and wasting so much time that could be eating such an American masterpiece, Bilbo flailed to get up and didn't feel bad at all when he stomped on the man's feet. The stranger yelped in shock, hopping on one foot.

“You walk slower than the dead,” Bilbo all but spat, politeness and manners instilled in his childhood and long years afterwards completely gone. Maybe brash America was loosening his stiff-upper lip. It would exclaim the harsh words being able to slip out past his thoughts.

Bilbo had stalked away, and didn't see the man for a week. In that time his black-eye was nearly gone, only hints of yellow and blue remaining where it had been viciously black and purple.

The group of four were walking again, and it was the woman oddly enough who saw him first, pointed at Bilbo, turned to the satanic man and asked something Bilbo was too far away to hear. He nodded grumpily, eyes on his boots, and then the woman was laughing. Not just a giggle: but a full-body laugh.

“You're the one who broke my brother's toe?” she asked Bilbo breathlessly after she'd run up to him.

“ _What_?!” Bilbo asked in complete shock for two stark reasons.

“Well, it was well deserved seeing as you're just getting over a black-eye.”

Bilbo gaped, and then looked down at the two boys for some sort of semblance. They were looking up at him, grins wide and imperfect from the gaps in their rows of teeth.

“It's just like a Disney film,” the dark haired boy said.

“He's got a funny accent and all. Do you sing well?” the blonde one added.

Bilbo finally managed to shut his jaw shut, wondering just what the hell had happened from one little fall. The feeling only continued when the woman (Dis he would later learn, six years younger than her older brother Thorin) invited him along for their stroll.

So it turned out that this stranger was not a perfect man with a perfect family and life, but really just a bumbling, easily-embarrassed individual like Bilbo who had been caught off guard.

 

 


	17. On the Road Again

 

Stuck in a bus station AU

 

One vending machine, one ticket, and one wrapper.

 

  
  


Thorin couldn't believe his luck.

Primarily because it was Thanksgiving and he was stuck in a Greyhound bus station, still miles and miles away from his childhood home and where his sister, brother, nephews and other assorted family members were all gathered about. Surrounded by everything from mashed potatoes with caramelized onions to pumpkin pie made from scratch (and yes, that especially included the crust). Say what you will about the Durins, but their Thanksgivings were legendary and something to be invited to.

Thorin had thought it perfectly fine to wait a bit before flying out, not expecting the freak snow-storm. It had been easy enough canceling his plane ticket for a refund, but Thorin hadn't counted on how difficult it would be to get a bus ticket. If only the train went to his little sleepy town at the foot of a mountain. And not only that: if only they had an extra ticket for him to get on the next bus going out.

So here was the great high-paid lawyer Thorin: stuck in an uncomfortable small, plastic chair that pinched at his shoulders when he tried to find a comfortable position. There were only a few other lost souls mucking about, all their faces drawn and bags surrounding them. Thorin knew he didn't look all that much better himself.

Except- Thorin narrowed his eyes at the chipper gentleman at the sole vending machine humming annoyingly in the far left corner. Even without the neon illuminating his face, the short man's wide smile was bright enough.

Thorin continued watching the stranger as he slowly gathered a small army of packaged snacks and food-stuffs. He practically skipped over to where his bag was, and when he looked up he made eye-contact with Thorin.

The burly man contemplated looking away and feigning total indifference, but the man was too quick with a smile, and the next moment he was moving down his row to sit directly across of Thorin.

“How's it going?”

Thorin glared at him in answer, arms crossed over his chest tightening.

His smile dimmed a tad at that, but then went back to its full wattage when he looked at the array of snacks in his lap. He picked a dark chocolate bar and offered it out, short arm barely reaching half-way across the tiled floor between them.

“To match your dark attitude,” he said charmingly in a way that would have had anyone else besides a surly Thorin melting.

On one hand, this was like accepting a present for him to continue sitting there. But on the other, _chocolate_.

Thorin's stomach gave a great rumble that had the blonde blinking and then laughing and reaching over even more to hand over the treat.

“Come on. It's Thanksgiving!”

Thorin glanced at the clock and did indeed see the minute hand had passed over the twelve; he was now officially late and Dis would officially get his behind hided and hung.

Thorin took the chocolate and bit into it with a grimace, but it was hard to maintain it with the candy in his mouth. It was just bitter enough for him.

“Are you missing a big family meeting?”

“Are you?” Thorin asked in a growl.

“Oh yeah,” he said with a nod, causing his wild curls to bounce around his dimpled face. “It's brilliant.”

Thorin frowned around his chocolate, but not in a vicious way like before. It appeared the other took it as an invitation to continue on with his rambling.

“My extended family is such a pain, but I had promised to come, and bought a ticket already, so it's sorta a waste not to use it. But then this storm happened and everything is getting backed up, and hopefully I can miss it all in one full sweep.”

Thorin snorted, and said: “Unlike you, I _want_ to go see my family.”

“Ah, how rare and pleasant. Where are you getting dropped off at?”

Thorin huffed out grudgingly: “I don't have a ticket.”

“Well, where regardless?”

“The Blue Mountains.”

“Oh! That's the stop right before mine. Here, have my ticket.”

Thorin gaped as the stranger handed over the generic bus ticket, and just like the candy bar, Thorin felt obligated to grab it even if he had his doubts.

“Works out for everyone then!”

Thorin boarded the next bus that came by, leaving behind the blonde stranger who had given him chocolate and his salvation. He lifted a hand in parting behind the large glass planes that were nearly impossible to see through from the sheets of rain.

As the bus drove away and Thorin thought of how he had moved from one uncomfortable seat to another (and had to sit in this one for an even longer duration) he realized he hadn't gotten the god-sent stranger's number, much less name.

It hadn't helped that he'd nearly finished the chocolate bar. He moved to crumble it into oblivion, cursing it along with his own absent-mindedness, but paused when he saw something scribbled- Thorin stared.

The little sucker had written his number on it.

The bus ride wasn't really that long when Thorin spent the rest of it texting one Bilbo Baggins.

 

 


	18. Pump Me Up

 

Biker Gang AU

 

One biker gang, one fight and one broken nose.

 

 

Bilbo didn't like pumping petrol from ten to five nearly every night and morning, but he expected it would be the same for most people.

Part of it was the dismal minimum wage; part of it was the mind-numbing boredom of no one being around for hours; part of it were the mosquitoes that ate him alive in this hot, muggy summer.

The biggest part was the feeling of just how dead-end this job was. How dead-end this town was. Sure, it helped motivate Bilbo to write more, to slip into different worlds, to not be satiated every time one of his short stories was picked up by a magazine and he was given enough money for groceries that week. But mostly it was the crippling sense of wasting one's life when he sat underneath the florescent bulbs that made him look more like a ghost than the young, desperate kid he was.

His nightly routine of staring at nothing and possibly jotting some ideas down on his yellow pad was broken when Bilbo jerked at the sound of a distant, approaching motor. It echoed noticeably, and Bilbo waited and looked to the right of the two-lane, pot-hole-infested road. At least a full minute later a motorcycle came blazing into the two-pump petrol station.

The person riding it wasn't even wearing a shirt underneath the leather jacket, and Bilbo first ogled at the raven tattoo that was spread on the man's hairy chest, and then the oddly-glowing circle-design-thing on the back of the black jacket.

The man flicked out the kick-stand, stood, and stretched his arms high above his head. It made the geometric raven's wings raise, and Bilbo thought it looked ready to take flight off his skin and into the equally inky black of the night sky.

Bilbo was about to get up and ask if the burly man needed help, but then there was that thunder again. This time Bilbo jumped as something like eleven other bikes roared up and in like a sudden flood. The bikes were an array of colors ranging from fire-engine red to a cool, royal purple. There was only one person to each bike, except one that had two men. They seemed opposites of the other: what with one being tall and burly and the other shortish and weedy.

It was this massive man who walked up to the first one to arrive, and the raven moved again when the man just barely dodged a punch. It was then that Bilbo realized the two men had different designs on their jackets: the first had that white circle, while this one had two axes crossed on the back.

Was this a rival fight? It sure looked like one, what with the punches and hollering from everyone around. Bilbo fiddled with his cellphone, and then looked down in dread to realize that the battery had died.

Thinking fast (and in hindsight naively) Bilbo stumbled out of the little convenience store and pushed his way to the two fighting men. They were quite tall, at least a head if not two taller than Bilbo.

“Please- gentlemen-”

The others around the two taking swings at each other quieted a bit at that, and Bilbo felt himself blush at having so many pairs of eyes fix on him. But there were more important things. As in how the two were still circling each other like waring male lions.

“Hey, you really shouldn't-”

Bilbo cut himself off when he rushed forward. This was his domain at the moment and it wouldn't do well to have any fights. This was a boring town, yes, but it was quiet, sophisticated and-

The first thing Bilbo computed was the crunch, and then the flare of hot-pain lacing up from the bridge of his nose past his eyes straight to the back of his skull. He dropped like a bag of potatoes, and blinked up at the bright stars above him.

The cheering died in heartbeat. Bilbo tasted blood on the back of his throat and felt it gushing out to drip down his cheeks. He blinked through the pain as the man he'd first seen leaned over with a toothy smile.

“We were just playing, but thanks for trying to defend my honor and all that.”

Bilbo blinked, and thought that it must be this bloody nose that was making him choke. It was the only explanation for how one so in-tune with words would be suddenly tongue-tied.

“Oi- _Oin_! Come here and fix his nose, will you?”

As he sat around the little group of strangers and leather, frozen burritos pressed against his nose to help with the swelling, Bilbo learned about the traveling pack that called themselves 'Sons of Aule.' He learned that they each had their own unique jacket, and Bilbo realized in a shock that he had totally misread the situation.

They sat for a while, and when their talking finally died down, Bilbo looked up to see the sky beginning to show the long-fingers of first daylight.

“You got a place for us to crash at?” Thorin asked, head cocked. It caused his hair to drift lazily over his shoulder.

Bilbo smiled, and nodded, and wondered if they'd let him travel with them after he'd let them crash a bit at his parent's house he'd grudgingly inherited. The idea was only cemented when Thorin patted the seat behind him.

 

 


	19. Unexpected Turbulence Might Occur

 

Pilot and steward co-workers AU

 

One private company, one steward, and one slip.

 

 

There were a great many perks about having his own jet and company to go along with it.

When Thorin had first gotten his pilot license, he'd gone into flying for FedEx, favoring cargo over people and personal interactions. He'd done a good job at it, too, for nearly two decades, until Dis had decided to make a company for him and her newly-licensed son.

Thorin learned early on that Kili was a good enough co-pilot when they began flying together. With the massive fortune their Durin family had, it had been but a blink of an eye for Dis to buy the plane. But of course she had to get an old, 'personality-full' one and spend thousands of pounds reconstructing and refurbishing it all. Of course it was utterly gorgeous with the blue lines and the black raven logo Ori had made for them.

Thorin supposed that this would be alright. Take thousands from millionaires to add to their own personal fortune. It would be a weird irony of some sorts.

Thorin has just not accounted on one Bilbo Baggins, steward extraordinaire.

For one thing, Dis had given him a completely ridiculous outfit. And by ridiculous, Thorin meant totally drool-worthy. It was a three-piece suit of a dark-blue that brought out the gold in his hair. Underneath there was a crisp white shirt, black oxfords that shined, and ties that were always just borderline annoying in their wild patterning and colors. (Thorin could tell Bilbo added that to the outfit himself and it shouldn't be so cute.)

And those trousers- by _Jehovah's Witness_. Thorin was absolutely positive that they were at least a few inches too tight to be necessary. The way they clung to Bilbo's behind every time he leaned over- it was a crime. Thank whatever spirits in the sky that in the cockpit Thorin was only looking out to the open sky and clouds, and not behind to one steward’s behind, else he would have crashed the jet countless times.

Not that Bilbo was an entire plight on his life. He dealt with the clients so Thorin didn't have to, even if Kili at times would talk and mingle. It was how he'd found his current girlfriend Tauriel, who they had flown from Scotland to Canada to return home.

But for the most part Bilbo was a bane on Thorin's four-stripped-existence. He brewed the coffee just right. He knew which snacks and meals Thorin liked most. After a while Thorin discovered that Bilbo was the one who made the meals for the plane. (He checked- he got paid for both, and Dis had laughed at him and then refused to explain why.) Not to mention he did everything with precision and attention, and when he was tired after a fifteen-hour shift of flying over Russia or wherever, he looked more adorable tired than anything else.

Again: totally horrid.

Today seemed like any other flight, the only difference being how Thorin had decided to take the seat Kili usually occupied while his nephew sat in the captain's chair. The boy was practically buzzing with energy at having just done a successful, easy take-off even with the high winds coming out from the south.

Deciding it would be good to let Kili have some time for himself, Thorin went out with the excuse of getting a cup of coffee. Bilbo looked up with a bright smile (that had Thorin looking away and swallowing hard and mumbling to ask for a cup of coffee) before bustling about to help his captain out.

Instead of retreating back, Thorin leaned against one of the small counters and sipped idly. It was always a pain to have to use styrofoam cups, but at least he got to get his coffee hot.

As Bilbo chatted on about looking forward to getting some time off, Thorin looked down at the inky blackness of his drink and refused to grimace too harshly at it. It hadn't done anything wrong: it was only the universe.

Bilbo did a light quip about Thorin missing him, and before he could stop himself, Thorin stated gruffly that he really would.

When the shorter man looked up with wide eyes, the hazel irresistible, Thorin met them with his blue and decided it was now or never. So he thanked Bilbo for always brewing the coffee just right, thanked him for all the meals that were better than any restaurant Thorin had spilled money in (even the really fancy ones), and thanked him for putting up with Thorin daily.

Bilbo had responded with a smile that looked much too bright and lively as they hurdled through the sky, cutting through clouds with solid earth far below.

Thorin had never kissed someone in the middle of a flight, and suddenly he understood why Dis had explicitly explained months ago how there were no rules between fraternization between the crew.

 

 


	20. Shelter From the Storm

 

Homeless man in the woods AU

 

One vagabond dwarf, one helpful hobbit and one warm hearth.

 

 

Bilbo had been out gathering mushrooms like any other Tuesday afternoon when he'd turned and seen a silhouette in the forest.

Seeing as nothing very bad happened much in Middle Earth these days (what with that ring and all the wars in the past, the Third Age that had started a while back was mostly full of easy days all around) Bilbo wasn't immediately wary but wondering.

He inched closer, holding his basket of mushrooms close in case it was that Took and Brandybuck Frodo had unwisely befriended. They had tricked Bilbo out of a basket once before, but Bilbo was nothing but a sharp hobbit.

As he approached, Bilbo's pointed ears flicked at the sound of a deep, rumbling hum. Next his eyes took in the stalky form, the multiple furs, and finally the bright blue eyes that looked up at him.

Bilbo held his basket, the stranger held his faggot of wood, and there was only the soft rustle an old forrest could produce. Then it was broken by the stranger glaring and turning back to gathering, singing gone.

Bilbo realized in a start that the long hair and round, large ears meant this stranger was a dwarf. Immediately he thought of Frodo and how the little boy was so adamant about seeing some type of people other than elves. The dwarves were usually so secretive in the Blue Mountains.

“Excuse me- would you like to come over to my place for afternoon tea? It should start storming soon, and I'd feel horrible knowing I was warm inside and you were out here in the cold gathering wood that won't be any use wet.”

This caused the dwarf to turn, and he tilted his head for a moment before nodding.

They walked the few miles back to Bilbo's cozy home side-by-side and chatted all along the way. The growling and grumbling clouds were nothing like the comforting depth of Thorin's voice as he talked. When they got to the smial Bilbo warned the no-longer-stranger dwarf about Frodo before unleashing the youth.

Not that Thorin minded; in fact he explained how he missed his nephews at this age. It had been decades ago since they had been this innocent in their carefree attitude. Bilbo was the one wincing as his fawn pulled on the dwarf's braids like reigns.

Frodo went to sleep early enough, no doubt from running all around the Shire while Bilbo had gardened this morning. It left Bilbo and Thorin by themselves, their smoke rings a sharp contrast to the howls of wind and lashes of rain on the windows.

“You're free to stay, if it pleases you,” Bilbo said as he puffed out a ring that lasted longer than Thorin's last one. “I only have a dozen guest rooms for you to choose from.”

Thorin solemnly nodded.

The next morning Bilbo awoke to the smell of food and voices in his kitchen. He fell out of his bed in shock, but recovered quickly enough and hurried to throw on and tie his patchwork bathrobe. He entered the kitchen to see his little Frodo completely surrounded by a host of dwarves. They all turned to him on queue, but Bilbo only had eyes for one dwarf who was looking oddly sheepish.

“You did say you had lots of rooms,” Thorin explained as he handed a sausage to a happy looking raven.

The dwarves cheered, and Bilbo sighed, wondering just how he kept adopting more and more people as the days went by. He would've expected something like this from Gandalf, but the wizard was no-where to be seen.

[It would be learned later that the wizard had been the one to chose the campsite and recommend where Thorin could find good firewood before heading ahead to the Blue Mountains to see his old friend Thrain.]

 

 


	21. I Need a Hero

 

'You probably don't remember but you saved me from some bullies once in middle school and god damn it every year you just get hotter' AU – jean-bo-peep via tumblr

 

One trapped kid, one act of kindness, and one crush.

 

 

Thorin hadn't always been as tall and burly as he now stood. When he'd been young, almost the age that Fili would approach in a few years, he was short and shy and a perfectly petulant child. Thorin worried over his siblings before himself, what with their mother passing at such a young age for all of them. He didn't care about lasting connections with his peers; he had Dwalin and Dis and Frerin. Who else would he need?

Apparently some of his classmates took offense to his attitude. It was a sunny Wednesday afternoon when Thorin was cornered by three tall, intimidating eight-graders. One had striking blue eyes and pale skin, and hair sheered so short it was almost like it wasn't there. He held himself high, hands large and intimidating.

Thorin had looked around wildly, fingers twitching and adrenaline pumping in his large ears that his Grandfather always pulled affectionately at. Thorin was sure soon they would be pulled none-too gently. The ten-year-old had just closed his eyes, wincing and waiting for the inevitable punches and kicks, when a crisp voice broke through his thundering heartbeat.

“Excuse me, what's going on here? Azog, I hope that this isn't what it seems to be.”

The burly teenager narrowed his eyes, clearly unimpressed with the shorter man's presence and words.

“Get out of here before I call Headmaster Gandalf.”

The three had scrambled away from the crisp tone, and Thorin looked up to find his angel of salvation was none-other than the English TA named Bilbo Baggins. The one Thorin had dismissed on day one; yet Bilbo only answered his dismissive attitude with smiles.

“You alright, Thorin?” Bilbo asked, leaning down a little to get eye-level with Thorin.

Thorin nodded, turned bright red, and ran off. How else was he supposed to react to someone as kindhearted and cute as Bilbo Baggins saving him and then saying his name like he truly cared?

Bilbo stayed for the rest of the year, and then moved on to become the kindergarden assistant, and then the forth-grade teacher the year after. By that time Thorin had moved onto a different building, so he rarely saw Bilbo except when he went to pick up his younger siblings.

And dammit, if each year the older man didn't get more handsome, his dimples more adorable, Thorin didn't know what was right and true anymore in this world.

It would be some years later, when Thorin was coming in with Dis for a parent-teacher conference for Fili, when he realized in shock that of course Bilbo still worked here as the teacher. And of course Thorin had never gotten over his crush, of his fearless face before three teenagers taller than him for one short loner.

Bilbo had gaped, and laughed, and grabbed Thorin's bicep to really make sure that the weedy kid he remembered years ago was long gone. Thorin flexed just to show off, and while Bilbo was mighty impressed, Dis just snorted and rolled her eyes and asked if they could actually do something useful with the small amount of time allotted to them.

Dis left promptly, and Thorin knew it was to give him and Bilbo more time.

“I suppose you won't need me rescuing you anytime soon, huh?” Bilbo asked cheerfully.

“I'm not too sure about that. I recently read about some roaming pack of raccoons coming into town lately...”

Bilbo blinked and then outright laughed at that, and Thorin hunched his shoulders and thought that he really hadn't changed much at all from that unsure little boy.

 

 


	22. The Great Two British Blokes Bake Off

 

'I used to be the best baker in the neighborhood but then you showed up at Mrs Appleby's 80th birthday with a stack of brownies which almost gave me an orgasm my honour is at stake and I'm going all out for the next event' AU – perfectlyrose via tumblr

 

One new neighbor, one competition, and one pumpkin pie.

 

 

Not many people had moved into the sleepy little town Bilbo's lived in his entire thirty-eight years, so it was quite surprising when a whole trope of fifteen people decided to relocate to the little country town. (It had been equally shocking and simple enough: they had the long-thought-lost deed to the crumbling mansion and moved in the day they drove up.)

Bilbo himself was on the adjoining hill, although that wasn't saying much as their properties were separated by acres and orchards. Still, if Bilbo stretched on his neck off his porch around a certain knobby crab-apple tree, he could see the tip of what he remembered as a child calling 'The Lonely Mountain.'

Yet it wasn't so lonely after all, and the townsfolk saw it as a clear excuse to celebrate. But discretely, as they hid their public snooping at someone's grand eightieth birthday where the whole town had been invited.

Bilbo just sighed and got to baking, knowing there would be a demand for some of his lemon cakes by the dear-old goat that was his distant relative in some regard. They were quick enough to make, and Bilbo absently sung and danced about the house while waiting for them to be finished. Frodo watched with a smile while their stray cat Smaug looked anything but happy.

The two went down, and Bilbo was pleased to see that there were two new boys in the rowdy group, and while Frodo attached to his leg for a moment in shyness, Merry and Pippin waving him over to meet their two new friends was incentive enough.

Bilbo was a little shocked-still himself when he noted that someone else had brought desert. Now, this entire town knew that he was the party baker around here, so he had to assume it was one of the newcomers.

Well, it was only polite to try one of these chunks of what looked like a rudimentary form of brownie. Bilbo thought it was decidingly _not_ polite to moan loud enough that his voice momentarily overtook the string quartet on stage.

Hastily he devoured the rest of the brownie, and then grabbed a couple napkins and wrapped a brownie in each; he tucked them carefully in his waistcoat pockets like they were eggs to incubate.

When Bilbo got the courage to ask one of the newcomers who had made those brownies (Bilbo learned his name was Ori and he'd be working at unearthing the library archives in a week's time), the young man simply said:

“Oh, it must have been Thorin. That's him, right over there.”

There was a saying in the Baggin's family: 'Never trust a skinny cook.' Now, this Thorin character wasn't exactly skinny, but he was especially fit. Definitely trim. Definitely looked as delicious as those brownies had tasted.

But suddenly something soured the whole equation: how had someone so seemingly gruff made something so maddeningly sweet? Bilbo himself had a soft stomach to prove just how much he experimented and tried different recipes and styles, and here this stranger was blowing it all in his face with a simple brownie of all things.

Suddenly the brownies in his pockets felt more like stones than treats. He still ate them. But Bilbo definitely didn't go talk to that Thorin person.

Bilbo's time for revenge came in a couple week's time, what with the annual pie-competition for the elementary school's Pumpkin Patch. Bilbo knew Thorin would enter, what with Fili and Kili being in the same school as Frodo.

Bilbo had planned this for months, regardless of this sudden competition. He had nurtured his own pumpkins, even putting plastic bags over them every night despite what the weather forecast was. He couldn't let his pumpkins freeze to result in him being unable to stop Thorin in his tracks.

It was all for naught, of course.

Thorin had gone the unorthodox route of blueberry rhubarb with a lemon custard underneath, and it had completely blown away the judges. Bilbo's four-year winning streak was shattered.

After the verdict, Bilbo sat himself on a stack of hay, not caring that the straw was poking through his corduroys. At least this he could do right: he was dressed as a scarecrow and children were giving him liberal space from the expression on his face.

Bilbo barely registered a throat clearing, and when he turned, he nearly squealed at the sight of massive-shouldered Thorin in a wolf onesie that was at least five inches too short on his legs, and four on his arms.

“Your pie was the best thing I've ever tasted.”

Bilbo blinked at the phrase, and watched as the man's clear blue eyes didn't avert from his own. He was standing his ground, and was that-

“Did you bet on one of my pies?” Bilbo asked in alarm.

Thorin shrugged, and took out a fork and began to eat it _right there in front of him_.

“I put a few of mine up for auction as well. I can spare some of my own earnings to help you.”

Bilbo unabashedly stared, and Thorin looked down to his pie and began to eat without another word. He was eating it with clear relish, not even caring about getting bits of whipped cream in his dark beard.

“Want to sit?”

Thorin stopped eating for a bit, and his jaw seemed to loosen a bit as one corner of his mouth turned up. He sat down on the hay with a huff, and Bilbo continued watching the man positively decimate one of his pumpkin pies.

“You really like it that much?” Bilbo asked, checks feeling hot, and thankful that Frodo had insisted on the large red circles of face paint.

“We should trade sometime.”

“Or better yet, bake together?”

This oddly enough had Thorin choking, and Bilbo worried he had really hurt himself when his face began to turn red. When Thorin spoke next, his voice wasn't as gruff from before, and his expression was vulnerable.

“I-I'd like that.”

 

 


	23. Please Be Advised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Note: Yeah, we're hitting up that pilot!AU again, but with a twist! Shout out to 'Cabin Pressure.' Also I don't know if you've noticed, but these stories are climbing way higher than my 500ish-word limit. OIYAH.

 

'I hate flying but your snarky announcements are a good distraction and you have a nice voice and I might be calling you Captain Cutie in my head' AU – ashesinyourhair via tumblr

 

One pathetic passenger, one turbulent flight, and one quirky voice.

 

 

“Hullo all, your Skipper here at the front!”

Thorin's fingers twitched at his seatbelt, making sure it was tight like advised, but not too much so that he lost any feeling in his legs. Beside him, Dis snorted, and Thorin was sure her son Kili (in the aisle seat) would have as well, if the teenager wasn't so busy ogling a red-headed stewardess.

“I just wanted to give a good morning to you all! I hope you're all situated well for our flight out of Heathrow this morning. Today we have the pleasure of the ever lovely Tauriel heading the team of staff to assist everyone in any way we can.”

Thorin continued to fidget as that captain (at least that's who Thorin thought was talking) continued to babble about the weather here, and the time difference and weather at the place they would be landing at.

Dis already had her historical-romance book out (being the stoic history professor he was, Thorin's grimace widened) and Kili had a pad and paper out, and already Thorin could see the words 'beautiful' and 'love' and 'radiant.' Great. A _love letter_. As if Thorin wasn't feeling nauseous enough.

When they took off, Thorin's fingers were gripping the arm-rests so tightly Dis chided him and said he could use his meager tenure-pay to fix any damages. But Thorin barely heard her, so focused on the blood pumping in his ears, and then that cheerful captain's voice coming back on.

“Sorry about that folks! My co-pilot bet ten-quid I couldn't take off using my feet. Well, guess who now has money for the first round of pints when I get back to jolly-ol' London?”

Maybe it was the hysteria from the turbulence still occurring, but Thorin found himself weakly chuckling at the man's quip. Thorin continued to do so every time the voice came on, as it was his one life-line in this hell. Thorin knew paradise was literally the reward for dealing with this strenuous flight, but the voice helped along.

Everyone else was getting along just swimmingly: Fili, usually so shy and reserved, had started talking to the blonde girl sitting next to him and hadn't stopped yet. Both Dis and who Thorin assumed was the girl's father were watching them intently; the two teenagers themselves were oblivious to it all. Similarly oblivious was Kili, who kept hitting the call button just to get a visage of the 'goddess' that was Tauriel, and pull out a giggle from a bad pun or joke, or get her to say something about herself.

Yet Thorin couldn't really give that much gripe for others being pathetic, seeing as he had his eyes closed tight and waited in tense anticipation for the captain’s voice to come on to distract him, and in a larger frame for the flight to be done already.

The captain joked about being in the middle of a drinking competition, how his stiff-upper-lip was so steady that he was flying the plane with it now, and an assortment of other outrageous and interesting stories and quips. Obviously the man had no problem at all multi-tasking.

When they finally (blessedly) came down on the ground, and Thorin could breathe somewhat again (he wouldn't feel safe until he was _out_ of this metal trap) he frowned for the first time at the captain's voice wishing them all a pleasant journey.

“He never said his name,” Thorin grumbled, but was quickly brought back to reality when Dis elbowed him while getting her purse from under the seat in front of her.

It must have been pure luck, or something stronger like fate, that made the captain come out of the cockpit just as Thorin was about to de-plane. Thorin hadn't even given a thought to how he thought the man might look, but his visage matched his voice perfectly. Especially when he looked up and smiled, flashing dimples and golden curls.

“Thanks for existing,” Thorin found himself spewing out as his dear sister and nephews sputtered and giggled behind him.

The man blinked, his face open and in such contrast to the strict, pert uniform he wore. And then he was blushing, and Thorin didn't care if he was holding up all the passengers behind him.

Of course the pilot did, so Thorin was all too accommodating as the (much) shorter man grabbed Thorin by his elbow and steered them off the plane together. As they got to the gate, Bilbo said his thanks, and Thorin could only nod dumbly and wonder just how he was so bad when he truly needed to be smooth.

“Don't worry, Uncle!” Kili chirped as he slung his backpack on one shoulder. “I got Tauriel's email and I'll just ask her.”

Thorin didn't know what was worse: having to rely on his seventeen-year-old nephew for hooking him up, or getting a fatal crush on someone from their voice alone.

 

 


	24. Steady Ground

 

'We decided it would be fun to go camping and now it's raining and we can't figure out how to set up the tent' AU – kenaiskoda via tumblr

 

One tent, one fight, and one rally.

 

 

“You forgot the tarp.”

“I have it right here.”

“That's the _rainf_ _ly_. You need the tarp underneath the tent so that if the ground gets wet it won't creep through the bottom.”

No sooner had the words left Bilbo's mouth did the threatening, mulish gray clouds above them go through with their promise of demise. Well, it wasn't truly demise sense neither of them were a wicked witch (no matter what Thorin said Bilbo's temper made him into).

Instead of taking the time to do put up their accommodations for the night correctly, Bilbo watched from the nearest tree as Thorin attempted to put the tent up in haste. Yet he kept messing up, making the small structure crumple in on itself before it had any true shape.

By the time Thorin had manhandled it into some semblance of its correct shape, it wasn't that much of a victory. The tent was positively damp, dripping even, and Thorin's backpack was water-logged from forgetting to put it under a tree like Bilbo had. Still, if Thorin just lined his bag with a trash bag like Bilbo had advised, only the bag would have gotten wet.

Dinner was tense and quiet, the only sound being the bubbling water before even that was quieted by the pasta getting submerged.

“I don't know why you're angry at me,” Bilbo said in a huff as he situated himself for the night. “You're the one who didn't just let me do it.”

“And that's the problem. _Right there,_ ” Thorin said as he shot out of his sleeping bag, like he was a past-pharaoh coming out of his mummy-style sleeping bag. “You always know how to do everything. You always _have_ to do everything. And when I try and learn, Gods forbid, you push me aside. You don't even _listen_ to me nowadays.”

“I'm listening right now,” Bilbo said in a huff.

“Probably because you don't have a light to read a book with, don't have your oven to bake with, and don't have some absurd quilt to adjust. Or some _stupid_ silver to polish.”

“Thorin, you're being outrageous. You're just tired. You'll feel better in the morning.”

Thorin's eyes flashed dangerously for a moment, but he deemed the fight useless it seemed, as he turned over without another word. Bilbo kept his eyes on his three-year boyfriend, and wondered just how many nights of those years they had gone to sleep angry at each other. Not really many at all; in fact, while they bickered at an incessant rate, they were aways in each other's arms by the end of it all.

They tramped an easy six miles the next day, deciding that since it was their third day they should enjoy and go easy. It was the silence that was painful: the woods all around felt suffocating instead of invigorating. Bilbo had enjoyed tramping and camping alone, but he'd wanted to share this with Thorin. He thought it perfect for the athletic fireman.

Thorin hung up his sleeping bag to dry out in the sun when they got to the campsite. Bilbo unpacked the parts of the tents he'd been designed to carry, and set them down at Thorin who was staring at his sleeping bag, as if his hot glare would help.

“You never bother to read the instructions,” Bilbo muttered. “But that doesn't matter, because I'll just show you now.”

That night they brought their sleeping bags and air mats close. They couldn't spoon skin-to-skin like at home, but it wasn't all that bad with the bags between them.

“I'm sorry that I got angry at you,” Thorin's deep voice muttered at the nape of Bilbo's neck.

“I'm sorry I don't listen unless you're yelling at me,” Bilbo answered back.

Thorin's arms tightened on his stomach, and Bilbo tried to move back impossibly closer.

 

 


	25. Dirty Little Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note: Inspired by the whole dog!AU.

 

'I'm a werewolf but I'm embarrassed to tell you because my wolf form is more like a chihuahua' AU – pumpkinsdean via tumblr

 

One boyfriend, one bite and one biscuit.

 

 

Thorin honest-to-heart loved Bilbo.

Sure, his boyfriend of two-years now could be obsessive with his cooking and baking, could knit so many scarves Thorin literally became suffocated, had the annoyance of wanting to go antique shopping _every damn Sunday_ , but he was mostly alright. And yeah, sure, Bilbo disappeared for a few days of every month to go visit relatives in the country, or go on some library conference, or whatever odd reason, but Thorin wasn't sour about that. Or frustrated. Or annoyed. Nope, none of those things.

After all, his boyfriend was a successful head-librarian for the university that Thorin was head-landscaper for, so it wasn't like they really missed time outside of seeing each other other than that odd day or two.

And ok, let's be honest here, Thorin did sometimes wonder about why Bilbo was so habitual about going away from Thorin when Bilbo was all about physical proximity and affections. Thorin supposed they'd get around to talking about it. He just didn't account for it being on a random Thursday-night with Bilbo walking out, fingers fiddling around a soft-lilac colored leash.

“Thorin, I have something I need to talk to you about something.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow; internally his worries rose far higher at Bilbo's wary tone.

“I've been wanting to talk to you about it for months now, but- but it's hard to find the right time. And I- well- you just know I love you so much- and-”

“Bilbo, whatever you have to say is going to be fine,” Thorin declared as he put aside the pipe he was whittling to stand before his boyfriend, hands reaching out to sit on Bilbo's shorter shoulders. “I know it'll take a while to adjust, but well, we're never lacking in enthusiasm with these sorts of things, are we?”

“What?”

“Well, that of course,” Thorin said, eyes on the leash and giving a nod. “I'm supposing even you gave into that horrid romance series that's been all the rage despite its lacking color in both title and prose.”

It took a moment for Bilbo's sharp mind to catch up, but after it did, his grimace was spontaneous.

“I'm not interested in doing anything like that.”

“Do you want to adopt a dog, then?” Thorin asked with a frown.

“No, _I'm_ the dog.”

“I thought you said this _wasn't_ about bedroom activities.”

“No- I- I'm a werewolf!”

Thorin stared in disbelief, Bilbo's chest rising and falling in rapid succession like a bird in shock.

“Bilbo, I know you love Harry Potter, but-”

“Just you wait. It's going to be the full moon and you'll see.”

And Thorin did see when the sun went down and the moon rose an hour later. For his boyfriend gave a weak smile before shrinking and shrinking into the prime example of one of the Queen's beloved porkers she called her corgis. Except that Bilbo's stomach wasn't that wide, and the dog looked scared and defensive, the breed's usual cheerfulness missing.

Thorin had the near-uncontrollable urge to just laugh and laugh at this. Because it wasn't everyday Bilbo was snuffling about his waistcoat, replacing its forest green with a gold coat of fur.

Thorin reached out to bring the little bundle of fur to him, but obviously Bilbo in this state had a contrasting idea to that, as he lunged forward and bit down on Thorin's forearm. Not that it was painful, with the thick jumper and Thorin's even thicker skin.

Bilbo retreated, shivering and whimpering. Yes, it was great that he wasn't tearing up the furniture, but Thorin almost wished it was that instead. Bilbo afraid and confused in his own home wasn't something that settled well with him.

Thinking fast, Thorin went to the kitchen and ripped open a pack of biscuits (plain of course), crumbs flying every which way. Bilbo wouldn't even touch the things without a cup of tea, but Thorin doubted he was inclined to such frivolous activities as a little mutt.

Sure enough Bilbo emerged long enough to snack on the treat, muzzle lifted and rounded ears perked to pick up signs for more.

It took a few more biscuits, but thankfully no more bites, to get Bilbo close. This time Thorin talked to him first, and let him sniff his palm, and in no time Bilbo was shaking his tail and trusting him.

In the morning, when Bilbo woke up first and made a massive fry-up for Thorin that the supposed 'hero' didn't think he really deserved, Thorin asked why he was so anxious in his other form last night.

“I was nervous. It's not really normal, is it? And it's not like I'm especially proud of being a supernatural flop.”

“You've met other werewolves?”

“Well, my whole family turns into different dogs mostly. It's like our genes have become domesticated through the years like regular dogs from wolves.”

“That sounds far too logical for something so otherworldly.”

Bilbo laughed, and when he was done finally finding merriment in something that wasn't difficult at all, Thorin pulled him against his chest for more cuddles, and to joke about how next time he'd take Bilbo to the park.

[It was only next week when they realized that Thorin had been infected with that bite, and so naturally turned into a massive husky.]

 

 


	26. Wet Cold Scottish Summer

 

'We're both 'team leaders' at a summer camp for little people and you may be hot but goddammit my collection of twelve-year-olds are going to beat yours in the dust' AU – perfectlyrose via tumblr

 

One camp, one feud, and one bracelet.

 

 

Thorin was the lifeguard and football coach primarily, but he did other strenuous activities like tramping and fishing. Not to mention whittling and showing how to put up bear bags despite how they were in the north of Scotland, not the States.

Bilbo himself was the artsy one who always had bug-spray and worked with the crafts and kitchen. Sometimes he would go into the forest to gather mushrooms, and one time he'd nearly lost his heart when Thorin had descended from a tree via jumping straight down without no warning whatsoever.

[“What, did you think I was some woodland elf come to take you away?”

“No! You just- you just _startled_ me is all.”

“I am quite a startling picture. Especially in profile-view.”]

Bilbo thought the days were nice enough, especially the sunrises when the kids were still asleep with most of the world. It was the perfect time for a cuppa and a moment of reflection. At least until Oin would bellow that broken trumpet of his. That damn contraption was probably the result of most of his hearing loss. But other than that, and the screaming of young ones, the country suited Bilbo a tad more than his bustling university in London. It made him miss his childhood home in Bath, currently being rented out to pay for his tuition.

For one thing, he was one of the few with a light, southern accent. Unlike Thorin and his positive gang of relatives, who mostly had the deep burr of a northern accent. Bilbo couldn't even understand Bifur's upper-isle contortion on the English language.

Thankfully the camp wasn't so small that Bilbo always had to see Thorin constantly (and so get drooly-and-distracted). But it didn't seem to help that the camp leader, Gandalf, had deemed to pair up their groups at every occasion possible. They'd started a tally, and Bilbo realized despairingly that their count was now twenty-to-eighteen with Thorin in the lead.

But bless whatever beast in the sky- the next 'friendly meeting' or as Bilbo thought 'blood battles' was poetry. Bilbo obviously won it, and with 'friendship bracelets' being next, Bilbo just knew he could tie up this war.

Which was how Bilbo saw himself hunched over in the dim light of a campfire, not wanting to use up his battery for his head-torch he used only when reading.

[“What're you fiddling over with?”

“Oh, just your demise.”

“I look forward to you shackling me with it.”]

Bilbo did win that competition, and he kept the bracelet in his pocket. He hadn't made it with anyone in mind. At least, other than Thorin, but he was not going to give that prat something that had taken nearly six-hours to make.

The next competition was archery, and while Kili and Tauriel's groups were especially good, Thorin's was a tad better than Bilbo's. Then it was a night fashioned after Jeopardy, and Bilbo lead his team to merciless victory. Then it was fire-building, tracking, knitting, growing potato sprouts, pottery, feather finding- honestly, Gandalf must have an endless list of activities to engage the children and leaders alike.

Yet soon enough the summer (if it could be called that, considering all the fog in the mornings and the rain most afternoons) came to an end, and Bilbo looked at his return-train ticket in slight dread. Even though he hadn't especially needed the money, Gandalf had dragged him into it and Bilbo found he was happy to have come along for the adventure in this rocky, sharp environment.

The kids went home, and after the cabins had been checked, Dwalin demanded they all catch a drink. Only with Bilbo and Thorin, after both had agreed they couldn't leave it at a tie, decided to do a one-man-alone competition in the shape of rye whiskey.

Thorin boasted his thick northern blood would get him through, and Bilbo had positively exploded in peels of laughter before boasting how he'd never gotten a hangover once in his life.

[“How are you not dead yet? Your body is so tiny.”

“I am not small! You're just the shape and size of a small mountain.”

“You're akin to a small rabbit's burrow then!”]

At 7:32 the next morning Bilbo was positive he got on the train still drunk. But he had Thorin to help steady him, as well as throw his bag in along with him. Thorin himself lived in the small town adjacent to the cabins, so he had no commit whatsoever unlike Bilbo.

Not trusting in words, as usually they were just spitting them at each other in anger, Bilbo took the bracelet hidden-but-not-forgotten, and tied it securely with a square knot ( _not_ a Granny one) around Thorin's thick wrist.

Thorin responded without words as well; he returned Bilbo's honest gift with a solid kiss.

 

 


	27. My House is a Castle

'I found you on the roof of my house passed out with a black eye holding a fire extinguisher' – the applepielifestyle via tumblr

 

One cabin in the woods, one lost traveler, and one adventure.

 

 

There were a good amount of perks that living in the near-wilderness entailed. For one thing, Thorin could walk around bare-chested without anyone to complain. He could wake up as early as he wanted without worry of waking up rowdy nephews, and then a dragon of a sister. But most of all, it gave Thorin the blessed isolation he had yearned for so long in his youth. 

So when Thorin looked up on his roof one morning after hearing the echo of some shuffling from outside last night, he expected to find a dying squirrel. Maybe an owl with a broken wing, confounded at the sunlight. 

He hadn't expected to find a blonde youth with a glaring shiner of a black-eye, clutching the bright-red fire-extinguisher Thorin knew usually sat on the porch.

For a moment, Thorin just stared and decided he'd figured out this stranger quick enough. By his ragged boots and sun-bleached plaid, not to mention the lumpy backpack (Osprey, _of course_ ), it was obvious he was just another traveler. Thinking that all national parks could be bustled through and ruined in their way to finding themselves.

Good thing that there were those like Thorin who lived in the woods, preventing their destruction be it from early-start forest fires or trespassers. 

“Hey!” 

The blonde immediately bolted up, grabbing the fire extinguisher closer to his chest as his eyes blinked out the haze of sleep. Thorin thought they were nice: like a freshwater river in spring. The stones underneath the surface appearing greenish and blue with the turning of light through rain clouds.

 “Good morning.”

“How'd you get the black eye?”

“You're not going to first ask why I'm on your roof?” 

“I'm supposing it's connected. Is it not?”

The stranger huffed and puffed, and Thorin stood on his ladder and waited for the man. Now that he had a look at his face, he didn't appear as young as he'd first thought. He was almost reaching the forever-struck wanderlust if he hadn't decided to settle down already.

“I got caught up in some wolves, so I grabbed the first thing I could get to protect myself. But I picked it up too fast and banged my eye with it. Disoriented, I decided to simply climb the roof and not get shred to pieces.”

“You didn't think to knock?”

“Why, I _hadn't_ ,” the stranger said with an overly-dramatic gasp. “The nearly getting killed in the middle of nowhere must have addled my mind temporarily. Not to mention this place looks downright abandoned with the moss and leaves. And the spiders.”

“Yeah, they won't really leave,” Thorin grumbled, thinking of those fat spiders in annoyance. 

“And how did you not wake up to the sounds of howls? It was near deafening!” 

“I've lived here for nearly two-decades now. You get used to it.”

“ _Doubt_ it.” 

Thorin looked back at the man and noted that he was regarding Thorin warily, still holding that extinguisher like it was a shield and not the blunt-instrument he'd hurt himself on.

“Well, come on down then. I was just making breakfast.” 

The stranger perked at that, and when he was later tucking into some bacon and porridge, he introduced himself as Bilbo Baggins. Thorin finally got around to introducing himself as well.

Then the confounding person decided to clean up his cabin in thanks for the meal, not to mention giving him some sort of respite from the creatures of night. And by the time Bilbo was done, Thorin knew he wouldn't make it out of his reclusive little mountain before dark.

“How'd you find your way here anyway?” Thorin asked over dinner.

Bilbo shrugged, and said: “Got lost. It happens a lot.” 

The next morning Thorin decided to offer Bilbo a ride, but he declined and asked if he could simply explore a bit, and if he could stay another night. He'd organize the pile of wood, teach Thorin about some of the wild herbs and plants about- Thorin noted that Bilbo had picked up on the pleasure of this place. 

So a day turned into two, and then five, and then Thorin blinked because he was already running low on food. And he did need to get this Baggins character on his travels again.

It was the next day when Thorin took them into town on his horse (something that Bilbo ogled and then _laughed at_ before being lifted off the ground kicking and grunting to the saddle). He dropped Bilbo on the lone-bus bench.

“Well, you know the way back, if you ever want to come back. After all your adventuring and such.”

Bilbo gave him a bright smile, and asked for his postbox address in town since obviously they didn't take mail halfway up a mountain.

Thorin got postcards from all around, Bilbo crossing continents and oceans alike in his travels that lasted three more years. Thorin became concerned when it'd gone for a whole month and Bilbo still hadn't sent a card to his sleepy little village tucked in the shadow of a mountain.

One morning Thorin heard a knock on his door, so he opened it to find Bilbo standing there with a massive grin and a brand new fire extinguisher, the garish neon-orange bow clashing horridly with the red.

 

 


	28. Etiquette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Note: One of these days I'm going to do a real historical romance with these two and it's going to be so dramatic. Cravats, balls, estates in the country- oh yes. YES. [One day, I say wistfully, into a setting sunset with the wind in my long, long hair.]

 

'I grew up not knowing I was royal and now I guess I'm heir to a throne and you're the guy who's supposed to be teaching me how to be royal bc I suck at it and oops we made out' AU – underworldwrites via tumblr

 

One squabble, one mounting, and one couple.

 

 

“First you said you could not possibly ride a horse, and hence requested a pony. So I dutifully went out and acquired one yesterday.”

Bilbo had been deemed forgotten royalty (or dukedom or whatever hogwash) just over four months ago, and still he was trying to wrap his head around the odd world of nearly everything at one's fingertips and disposal. Yes, Bilbo had grown up quite wealthy from his parents' joint inheritances nearly untapped due to their untimely passing. Still, Bilbo had never went out and blatantly bought a pony.

His tutor on manners and etiquette of all kinds, Lord Thorin, smirked. There was a glimmer in his God-awful-beautiful eyes as well, and Bilbo bristled at getting so easily cornered. Bilbo thought his declaration at tea time yesterday would have given him at least a week free of this accursed activity. Damn them for being in countryside were ponies and horses abounded.

“I can ride other things perfectly well, I will have you know,” Bilbo said with a smirk. If he had not gotten out of this the first time with his wit and words, why not try again?

Thorin was a rigid bastard to rules and polite conversations, so Bilbo had the desired effect straight away. Thorin's cheeks that were visible through his beard were rosy, and he averted his eyes to the ground.

“That is unbecoming speak for a duke.”

“Oh, I will personally show you who will _be coming_ -”

“ _Master Baggins_!”

“No need to be so stiff upper lipped,” Bilbo commented loftily, and then because he could not help himself: “Although I would not terribly mind if you were stiff in another-”

Bilbo's snappish words this time were not cut off with a sharp call of his name, but a hot mouth on his. Bilbo was so startled by this unexpected change of pace that he opened his mouth to gasp, and he found out it was a clear mistake. Thorin took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside, and immediately Bilbo's snappish fire flickered out, and then bloomed into an inferno of another type.

Thorin must have let go of the pony's reigns, as one of his hands was dragging through Bilbo's curls while the other one pulled the small of his back closer to Thorin's larger body. Both of Bilbo's hands were at Thorin's' chest, grabbing the fabric he found there into desperate little fists that instantly wrinkled the fabric.

Not one to be undone, without warning, Bilbo broke his lips away from Thorin's and jumped up, wrapping his legs around Thorin's solid middle and looping his arms around the taller man's neck. Bilbo managed to hold back his groan at the new, blessed friction, but Thorin apparently couldn't. Not that he had a problem with holding up Bilbo's weight, or with finding the blonde man's lips with his own again.

“Damn you Master Baggins,” Thorin said in a heavy pant. “I'm supposed to be teaching you, not debauching you.”

Bilbo hummed noncommittally, not really listening, as he was much more interested in watching and feeling as he slid a hand up Thorin's chest, past his neck, to the rasp of his beard. Thorin leaned into Bilbo's palm, and turned to lay a feather-light kiss against it.

It was a sweet moment, which Bilbo utterly ruined by rolling his hips against Thorin's. This time he was the one to lean back, and a keen moan escaped his lips. It seemed Thorin's strength had finally decided to fail him, as the two flopped unceremoniously to the green ground.

Finding the pony who had wandered would come later (as would Bilbo naming her Myrtle). But for the present moment, Bilbo and Thorin were content to simply lie down in the long grass and tall wildflowers and find comfort in each other's company.

 

 


	29. Find My Way Back

 

Train ride AU

 

One train, one sandwich, and one smile.

 

 

Thorin knew he perpetually looked like someone had kicked his kitten. Most times it helped, as in now when he waited to board the train and everyone gave him a wide space so he could get on first for a good seat without having to deal with elbows and bad breath.

The train pulled up in a squeak of grease and smoke, and Thorin tightened his grip on the paper bag that held his dinner.

Yes, it was good that people were staying clear of him, as he was anything but excited for this trip of five hours. It definitely did not help that most of it would be at night, the darkness masking the countryside and voiding Thorin of anything to look at. Of course there was paper work to do, but then there would be a headache to go along with it. And if anything Thorin needed to be fresh to see Kili and Fili, especially as the former had apparently found his 'one' in a tall redhead foreigner. (Irish wasn't really foreign, but it was enough for a proper English-bred Durin.)

Thorin lead his intimidating figure to one of the few, prized private compartment, and glared at anyone who dared to try and come inside.

The train went away with the same industrial squeal, and Thorin leaned back to enjoy the ride. At least he did for a solid five minutes, until someone burst in with curls and a frantic smile.

“Oh, thank goodness there's still a quiet place to sit!” the man exclaimed without preamble, throwing his ratty brown leather bag at one of the five vacant seats; the stranger took the seat directly across of Thorin at the window.

Thorin glared, but the man's smile remained and his bright eyes dispersed Thorin's hope that the man would leave. And indeed, the man widened his smile for a moment more before grabbing a book (just as worn to match the man's image) and putting on a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

Thorin took a moment more to study the man, noting how his hair went just past his shoulder in easy curls. It made Thorin think back to his days of youth, where he had worn it long enough to pull back and even braid. Now the firm he worked for demanded he sheer it like he was still in the army.

An hour or so passed, and Thorin sighed in disappointment when only the occasional light from cars could be seen. Thorin sat and stared at the darkness still, and then turned to the bag that held his dinner. Which was nothing more than a ham and cheese sandwich with some crisps to go along with it.

He had just pulled the plastic back when he heard a muffled squeal. Looking up at the man, Thorin saw his hazel eyes were wide and fixed on his sandwich. Like it was an alien-spawn from one of those films Kili loved: the ones that burrowed into your chest and made you explode up like a firecracker.

“You're going to-”

The stranger cut himself off by slapping his hand back down over his mouth, clearly remembering how to have manners in public. Still, his eyes were wide and looked terrified. As if he was facing down a dragon, not a tired lawyer with a packaged meal.

“I'm not giving you any,” Thorin rumbled.

“Like I would ever even _ask_ ,” the man continued, a hysterical giggled mixing in with his statement to make Thorin feel like he was being made fun of. “I would rather eat a raw potato and deal with the indigestion.”

Thorin looked down at his food, thinking that maybe the bread did seem a bit sad, the cheese and ham stuck together like lovers with intimate knowledge of the other's body.

“How about I share,” the man said as he put away his book ( _Dreamcatcher_ by Stephen King: something Kili would approve of) and rummaged around in his bag for a moment.

Thorin put down his meager meal and stared in dumb astonishment as the man piled out three large Tupperware containers. Like he was perfectly accustomed to carrying around a picnic for two when he was traveling by train.

“I don't have all that much,” Thorin heard the light voice say as he opened the first container to show an array of cut cheeses, meats, cucumbers, and grapes along with olives and roasted red pepper slices in separate containers. The second container opened to show a sandwich that looked to have two different types of meat on a dark rye bread. The third had a pasta salad full of fresh vegetables and smelling heavily of olive-oil with a touch of balsamic vinegar.

“This was all for you,” Thorin said in disbelief, taking the toothpick the man handed to him. Which he had no idea what to do with, until he saw the food-obsessed passenger pick up a stuffed olive and pop it in his mouth with an accompanying sigh.

“I may be an English professor by trade, but a chef at heart. And stomach!”

Thorin just continued to stare at the man as he continued to eat, and he realized that he had yet to even introduce himself. For so many years in the army where discipline was pounded into you, or law school where a set vocabulary and manners was key, he felt like a fool.

“I'm Thorin,” he said, not bothering with his last name.

“Bilbo!”

It matched his bright eyes and easy smile: a bouncing name for someone so full of energy and excitement over the simplicity of things.

Tentatively, he dropped his toothpick and grabbed for half of the sandwich. As he bit down, he moaned in a similar fashion to how Bilbo had: he had been wrong about the bread. It was pumpernickel and it was full of smoked salami and honey-tinged roast beef. At least that was what Thorin was tasting.

“I caramelized the onions and added two mustards instead of one. Oh, and the pickles I dried off of the extra vinegar so it wouldn't sog up the bread,” Bilbo said as he took the other half before Thorin could growl him away from it. “The lettuce and tomatoes of course I grew.”

Thorin looked up with a full mouth and crumbs falling to see just how visibly Bilbo puffed up and preened at that declaration. For Thorin, who had only succeeded in killing a cactus in his forty-two long year life, it was both impressive and frustrating to his pride.

“I can't believe you almost ate that vending machine slop,” Bilbo said with a sad shake of his head, shoulders dropping and clearly forgetting about the food in his hand to look up at Thorin pityingly.

“I've done it before,” Thorin said around another massive bite. “Not the worse thing I've done in one of these journeys.”

“You poor creature,” Bilbo said with a sigh and pat of his hand against Thorin's knee.

Thorin found he did not mind the touch, which was even more shocking than how good this sandwich was. With that thought, Thorin put a larger hand over Bilbos and looked up in thanks.

“Oh,” Bilbo exhaled, eyes wide again, “You smile so nicely.” 

 

 


	30. Black As Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Note: I feel like this is mostly just a rehashing of my AU oneshot 'The Stray,' but alas. Tally-ho!

 

Injured animal AU

 

One injured wing, one unlikely friendship, and one ability.

 

 

Bilbo found a raven larger than most hobbit toddlers in a pumpkin patch. The bird was on the ground, one wing clearly rumbled, but even that didn't diminish how beautiful its feathers were. They were so bright they shone white at certain angles.

Being the kind soul he was, Bilbo wrapped the bird in his scarf (and ignored the shrill squawks of protest and even the attempts to peck out his eyes) and took him to Hobbiton's only and old doctor.

Who only shrugged and said it was hard to tell with their light bones. Still, the bird seemed fine enough, the doctor hummed, and just needed to let the wing settle and rest before stressing it with flight or any type of motion again. So the doctor wrapped the bird up with something sturdier than fraying cotton, and he handed it back to a shocked Bilbo.

“I'm not a charity. Especially when it comes to dark birds.”

Bilbo nodded and only once he was outside did he huff at the offhanded prejudice against the glossy bird.

“He just doesn't like you that much because you're a species chosen by the dwarves. And they, unlike the elves and wizards and others, don't like us. So naturally some of us don't like them.”

Unsurprisingly, the raven didn't offer any words in return.

“Not that we aren't quite annoyed with outsiders to begin with, even those with wings instead of clumsy big-people feet. Regardless, your wings are the prettiest things I've ever seen.”

Bilbo closed his windows the first day, so he didn't have to cage up the bird and it couldn't hop out. Yet the bird didn't have any inclination to leave, as it simply followed Bilbo and cawed every now and then. Mostly for more sausages.

On the second morning Bilbo took the bird out on his shoulder to the garden, and the bird obediently stayed within sight. Bilbo thought to name it, but it was clear by its impressive size and regal manner that it must be already be owned and pampered over. It wouldn't help himself to name it to get further attached; he would be releasing it once it was fully healed. Bilbo thought how whoever owned this bird was quite lucky indeed.

The bird was a credit to its species with its intelligence, as he began helping Bilbo weed with its sharp beak that oddly enough didn't search out any bugs or worms.

Gandalf came a week after Bilbo found the bird, just as he was taking off the wrap on the bench out front. The bird flexed its wing, its claws a comforting pressure as it held onto Bilbo's forearm but didn't immediately flee.

“Strained yourself flying all the way back straight and not taking a break, I take it,” Gandalf said in lieu of greeting.

The raven amazingly enough turned into a dwarf before Bilbo's very eyes. At least now the shocked hobbit knew just how those rumors of dwarves talking to their ravens were. If they were all just dwarrows transformed, it would be easy enough to chat between each other.

And then Bilbo realized the indignation this stranger had taken with not even alerting Bilbo of his special state. Naturally it made Bilbo kick him out, ignoring this 'Thorin' as he bumbled to make his introduction and excuse about it being easier to heal while being in the body of a bird. Gandalf followed after the now-irked dwarf with a tip of his hat and a merry thanks.

The next morning Bilbo opened his mailbox to see one feather, bright even in the weak morning sun. He ran a finger pad along it, and smiled at the softness he found. But the next moment he straightened his spin and thought to himself that this one Bilbo Baggins wouldn't give in so easily.

Three days later Bilbo opened his great green door to get the mail. He turned, and noted that the younger oak on his hill had thirteen dark birds sitting in the barren branches, the leaves chased off last week from Winter fast approaching.

Bilbo thought about how thirteen black birds together was the sign of a death, a murder. It made a good deal more sense when they all took flight and flew through his open front door. Not a moment later loud voices were heard about good food and songs.

Yes, Bilbo was going to kill Thorin for essentially opening his house to all his bird-brained friends.

Thorin stood at the doorframe, looking worried but so damnably handsome. And Bilbo had missed the cad; so instead of yelling and stabbing him like he'd just mentally rehearsed, he pulled the dwarf close for a hug.

 

 


End file.
